


To Begin Again

by nerdy_biatch



Category: The 100 (TV), The 100 Series - Kass Morgan
Genre: Angst, Bellamy is a consultant to CBI, Bellamy was a con artist, Clarke is a detective, Comfort, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/F, F/M, Hurt, Love, Mourning, Murder, PTSD, Psychic Abilities, Revenge, Slow Burn, Threats of Violence, alternative universe, bellamy was married, descriptions of violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-23
Updated: 2019-10-20
Packaged: 2020-10-26 19:23:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 22,899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20747447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nerdy_biatch/pseuds/nerdy_biatch
Summary: This is set in The Mentalist Universe which is compelling if you have watched the show. There will be certain changes in characters that needed to be done...so sorry if it doesn't sit well with some. Example. Bellamy is the smartest character here and Clarke is as usual awesome. Monty and Murphy are detectives...I hope it's believable but I had to go that way because of Raven. Hopefully it's believable. Bellamy is mourning and Clarke has her own issues so it will be angsty and tense to start with but it definitely gets better.For those who watched the show hopefully I have done justice to Patrick Jane's character.because he's one of the best. He hasn't failed to make me laugh in a single episode. Anyway, I have taken the plunge and there's no going back now.Please give your feedback and constructive criticism is always welcome. This is my first story ever so any criticism that helps me in my writing is a bonus.Anyway time to stop my rambling. Here's to nothing and everything.





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> New hires, badass boss and Bellamy is hurting.

Sacramento, California.

Monty pulled into the century old building, wrenched up the parking brake, before looking at his watch. 7.55 AM. Great. Yet again he underestimated Sacramento’s unpredictable traffic.

He moved here from San Fran a month ago and rented a room close to the CBI premises as the bird flies. Unfortunately, he didn’t fly and he hadn’t known he would be brazing City’s worst morning traffic. He slammed his door shut, and briskly walked to the entrance where the board, which read ‘CALIFORNIA BUREAU OF INVESTIGATION’, greeted him.

The Spanish revival elevator doors chimed and opened on the 5th floor, home of the Serious Crimes Unit. A cacophony greeted him. The century-old building was being renovated even as the CBI moved in and started using the space. It would be classy and functional once the work was done. Now, however, it is crowded, dusty and disorganized. The lack of walls didn't help with the noise and privacy is a distant dream. A Federal grant to restore the historical building was too good for the state to pass up, but he thought it was poor economizing.

A few quick paces got Monty seated at his desk just as the big, old-fashioned wall clock showed 8 a.m. He opened the cold case file he was working on and dug in.

"See you around, McCreary," a crisp female voice called out. It emanated from a makeshift office created from filing cabinets and fabric-covered wood-frame dividers. Cho glanced up and saw the handsome early -30's senior agent for the Organized Crime Unit walking away. Eighteen months ago Markus Kane left the San Francisco Police Department to take the job of Director over all CBI investigative units. Kane quickly recruited rising star Clarke Griffin from the SFPD to head a new Serious Crimes Unit. A budget freeze forced Clarke to spend her first six months working as an agent under Paxton McCreary. The new budget year finally let Kane move her into the senior agent position over the SCU. Clarke immediately started recruiting her team. Former SFPD colleague Monty was her first hire for the four agent positions that typically constituted a team.

Her second team member started today. Monty looked up as the quick, determined tread announced Clarke's approach. "Boss?" "Monty. John Murphy will be up soon as he's done with Human Resources."

She glanced at her watch. "In about 30 minutes. Show him around, get him set up, and start him on the cold case we're working. We'll meet when I'm done with Kane." "Yes, Boss." She left for her meeting.

*******

"Agent Green?" Monty glanced up, and then looked up some more at the man standing by his desk: Caucasian, late 20's, 5’8”, 140lbs, brown hair, closely trimmed goatee, black dress pants, white shirt, and black leather jacket in lieu of a suit jacket.

"Yeah?"

"John Murphy, new agent in the Serious Crimes Unit. I, uh–" Monty stood and extended his hand.

"Agent Monty Green. Choose any desk. I'll show you around." He chose the desk next to Monty. 

Monty showed him around the old building. "Emergency exits?" As impassive as Monty was, Murphy still got an impression of surprise.

"I specialized in arson in the San Diego PD. Occupational hazard." Ah that explains it.

*******

Clarke returned and dumped an armful of files on her desk. "Monty, Murphy, in here," she ordered brusquely.

She opened her mouth, shook her head slightly and changed gears. "Murphy, Welcome to the CBI, to the Serious Crimes Unit." She managed a smile.

"All set up with HR?" He nodded.

"Did Monty show you around?" Murphy nodded again.

Monty realized Murphy found Clarke intimidating and suppressed a smile. "Sit." Clarke sat down at her desk and motioned them to the office chairs facing her.

"We've been reviewing cold cases for a month. We won't get fresh cases as long as we're short staffed. –The SCU needs at least four agents, me included." They waited silently as she dug out several files from the bottom of the stack.

"Here's the rub. This year's budget is better, but still tight. The hiring freeze keeps me from hiring into my other two positions. We either find an unassigned agent already in the CBI. Or we keep working cold cases. Anyone have an Opinion?"

Monty and Murphy exchanged glances. Monty spoke, "I'd rather work new cases." Murphy nodded.

"What are the choices?" She put five file folders in front of them. "Here are the files for the five available agents. I want you to have a hand in who you'll work with. Pretend you haven't seen these as they're confidential."

"Thanks." Murphy ventured, "Anyone you're leaning toward, Senior Agent Griffin?"

"'Clarke,'" she corrected. "Yes, but I want your take. We'll meet after lunch. Lock these in your desks when you're not reading them."

********

The meeting took only fifteen minutes. Murphy noticed that, like Monty, Clarke asked his take before revealing her own thinking. Mark of a good detective. Because he and Monty had already talked, he wasn't as apprehensive of his sharp, prickly boss as he otherwise would have been. They quickly agreed on Hannigan. It was a process of elimination rather than a positive choice.

"Murphy, be sure to read the Methods and Procedures and Employee manuals soon. Both are online. The SCU is new. Let's avoid making stupid mistakes."

"Will do, Boss." Murphy left.

Monty hung back. "Something more, Monty?"

Conscious that the ‘walls’ afforded no privacy, he leaned forward and lowered his voice. "Boss, don't know if you've heard the scuttlebutt. Hannigan was turned down for your job. He isn't a big equal opportunity supporter."

"That a problem for you, Monty?"

"No. So long as he pulls his weight." She softened.

"I appreciate the heads up, but I know what I'm getting. We need another agent to get out in the field. So long as Hannigan does his job, I'll make it work. It's not a social club." "Okay." He rose to leave.

"Monty – thanks."

**********

Quitting time, Murphy left for his inexpensive motel room. He was cheered by Monty's offer to help him apartment hunt on the weekend and decided Monty's deadpan expression was normal rather than standoffish. Still, Monty wasn't much for idle conversation. Maybe Monty will help him move in when he get his stuff here.

Murphy was cautiously optimistic. His contacts in SFPD had spoken well of Clarke. Frankly, he had been surprised when she offered him the job. He knew he was a damn good arson investigator, but he hadn't been at the top of his class at the academy.

He wondered if she knew about the other stuff, then mentally kicked himself. Any detective worth his salt would do a background check before hiring someone. The Murphy name had to have come up. But she hired him anyway.

Being a CBI agent was his big break and he was determined not to screw it up. Murphy sighed and relaxed. No gaffes on my first day. Clarke and Monty seem sharp, smart. He passed out wondering how Hannigan will work out.

* * *

Los Angeles, California.

To say he was nervous would have been an understatement. He just wanted to get out of here. Six months, within closed spaces, in a psychiatric facility was a hell of a task for someone like him. But where would he go? He has nowhere to go, no one to go home to or lean on. Actually not quite true on both counts but he wasn’t ready to dwell on that. He was so engrossed in his thoughts that he failed to notice Dr Lorelei Tsing approaching him.

“Bellamy. I’m glad to see you again today before leaving. How’re you feeling today?” her smooth voice soothed his nerves to an extent but he's still tense.

“I’m feeling good, a little nervous but otherwise fine”, he flashed her with his million dollar smile. A tell, that he was not okay, if they know him closely, which she did, unfortunately. He didn’t want her to make a big deal about his anxiousness, not now. Not when he was this close to leaving this hell.

“Of course it's okay to be nervous about this. You're returning home after 6 months. Speaking about home, you're really going home, aren't you?” her question hung in the air. If she noticed his anxiousness she didn’t mention it to him. For which he was grateful.

Home. Home. Did he really have a home anymore? For sure he owned a house in Malibu. It’s Big, Modern, and Luxurious, filled with expensive items, rare art and state of the art furniture. But does it count as home? 

“Bellamy,” a voice so sweet called his name in distance. He paid no attention to it.

Home. It was where he lost them. No wrong, it was where he took them away from him just because he was greedy and stupid. It was his ego that cost them their lives. they paid for what he did. All his demons reside in that house. Was he really ready to face them? He failed to do so last time and that's why he ended up here. He would do anything to prevent that scenario once again. He didn’t want to return here. Not willingly or otherwise.

“Bellamy,” a more insistent voice brought him out of his musings. “Huh?” he glanced up to meet Lorelei’s concerned eyes. He would recognize those eyes anywhere. It was in those eyes he drowned himself for 6 months.

“Are you sure you’re feeling alright?” her voice laced with concern.

He cleared his throat. This was not the time for self hatred. “Yes. I’m fine. Just thinking about home and other things,” he carried on in a determined tone.

”I will stay in a motel near my house for a few days. Get myself ready and align with the world.”

“Good. Did you say your goodbyes to the staff?” She changed the topic. He picked up on it. He realized that she’s keeping him occupied until his cab arrives. So she did notice his anxiousness after all. Of course she did. She was smart. She was one of the best.

They were carrying on their discussion about various topics when her personal assistant approached her and informed her something in a hushed tone before leaving. “Well it seems your cab has arrived. Will you be okay travelling alone? Could I send someone along with you just until you got settled?”

“No. No need for that. I’ll be okay”, he said with much more conviction. Last thing he needed was someone from here accompanying him. He doesn’t need a constant reminder about this place. Not now. Not ever, if he has anything to say about it.

But he needed to say something before leaving. He owed her at least that. He couldn’t bring himself to do this yesterday. “And thank you, for everything,” he mustered those words with as much sincerity he could muster.

He also hoped his eyes conveyed he meant those words. He’s indeed thankful. She saved his life after all. No wrong. She did much, much more than that. No words from his mouth would do justice for what she did. He was shattered when he they sent him here. She put him back together piece by piece. Not everything, mind. She had only six months. He’s never going to mend fully. Not in this lifetime. Not after what he did. But her work is standing him in front of her, breathing, wanting to live, determined to bring justice for those he lost.

“No thanks necessary, Bellamy. I was just doing my job. It was all you,” she replied. He noted a hint of pride in her voice before she carried on.

“Just inform the hospital once you reach home, okay? As you know you need to keep in touch with your counselor once a week. Also if you need to talk to someone about anything and everything you could always call me anytime. You know that right?” she conveyed it with so much care and affection. It made him uncomfortable. He doesn’t deserve this. He doesn’t deserve someone caring for him. Not after what he did to those who loved him before.

“For sure, I remember. I’ll definitely keep in touch,” he plastered a bright smile on his face that portrayed that he had the world by the tail. But he knows that she’s too good a psychiatrist to think that external reflected the internal.

He waved his hand at her before stepping out of the door. He stood outside the door for a minute to let his eyes adjust to the bright daylight. He noticed a taxi in the driveway, got in it and sank back against the seat closing his eyes. He took a few deep breaths. His smile and confident bearing vanished once he was out of Dr. Tsing’s prying sight. A boring voice brought him out of the slumber, “Where to?”

Where to? He could go to a motel near his house as he told Dr. Tsing, clean himself up, buy some clothes, and set himself up for the world before diving in. But he can’t do that. They deserve more than that. He needed to do this now. There was no time to waste. Already too much time was lost. He needed to take the plunge now not later. He owed them everything. He was breathing just to avenge them. That was the least he could do for them. 

“Malibu,” he said with a hint of determination. He could do this. He gave cabbie his address and sank back against the seat cushion once more before closing his eyes.

He has a long road ahead alright, both literally and metaphorically.

********

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bellamy was in the facility for 6 months and the reasons for it and how he ended up there will be explained as well as his back story. Didn't think Clarke's POV was necessary in this chapter. Other characters will make their appearances soon. And if you think this chapter was a bit sombre and boring ...don't worry things will pick up soon (in chapter 3). Still have a chapter to focus on the team and Bellamy's reaction when he enters the house after his life was ripped apart and then our favs meet. So please be patient. Thank you for reading guys.


	2. New Cases

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bellamy deals with his demons at the house, Clarke as usual the best at what she does and her team gets to work together for first time.

** _Bellamy Blake_ **

** _Malibu_ **

After the funeral, friends and relatives, business acquaintances resumed their lives leaving him alone to focus undisturbed on his family’s slaughter and his role in it. Everyone including Octavia, his sister, the only family he got now. He saw that look on her face, a look that he was familiar with her growing up, that screamed she blamed him for everything. She didn’t speak to him that day at all and he never saw her again after that. He didn’t try to contact her because he knew that the only hope of anyone ever finding her would be when she wanted them to find her. She was good at what she did. After all he was the one who taught her everything. Also he had other things to focus on, like murder of his family.

He actively pursued information from Detective Jackson, hoping that the case would be solved soon. As days became weeks, and then months, he gradually lost it. If the cops hadn’t been able to solve first eight murders, then what hope he had for number nine and ten? He had to accept that the killer wouldn’t be stopped anytime soon, maybe never. That’s when he hit rock bottom.

With Tsing’s help he regained control of his mind, his body and the emotions. As he rejoined the world, a lifetime as a conman kicked in and he presented a picture of recovery, she sought and expected. There was a price to pay for freedom- freedom from his restraints, freedom from the locked and padded room, then from psychotropic drug and then from the asylum itself. The price was convincing Dr. Tsing that “he was no longer a danger for himself and others”. It took everything in him to do that.

She had encouraged him to fight back, to resist letting a vicious killer rob him of his life. Walking away from all this, starting a new life is not an option. It would mean accepting that his innocent wife and child could be murdered without any consequence. He can never live a life like that. That left him with only one other option. To Bellamy Blake, ‘fighting back’ means ridding the world of the monster who murdered his innocent wife and child.

“Hey, dude. Do you mind? I’ve got another call.”

Startled by cabbie’s voice, Bellamy blinked and looked around realizing that they were at his home- no his house. Never again ‘home’. He reached into his coat pocket to give him two bills and gave it to the driver. The cabbie looked, looked again. “The fare’s only hundred bucks. Are you sure about this?”

He didn’t reply, instead forced himself from the safety of taxi to stand in front of his house. After a moment, the cabbie pulled away, more than happy with getting two-hundred for a hundred dollar ride. Bellamy didn’t notice. He wouldn’t care if he had.

Shivers from the chill night air returned him to the present. He gazed wide eyed at the silvery sliver of moon, surprised that hours had passed. He couldn't bring himself to go into the house after the taxi left, so sat on the concrete front steps instead. He stiffly stood and faced the front door, then turned aside. He made his way to the office/guest house in the back. A year-old tin blessedly enabled him to make tea with the instant-hot water dispenser. He slept on the office couch under the dust cover.

* * *

_ **CBI, New Team.** _

It was Friday so as expected there was a lull in the office except for four people who were hyperactive. They got a case. Well technically they got a case 3 days ago. Murder in small town…blah, blah, blah and miraculously they solved the case in 3 days. Clarke was a little proud of her team. This was their first case after all and her team worked well together. Okay worked as ‘well’ as you expect when you put four strangers together for the first time but still did okay. Even Hannigan seemed to have adjusted to her leadership. Everything went seamlessly, at least up to this point. She hoped that their first case went without a hitch. They were planning on making an arrest today. Well couple of arrests at the same time to avoid tipping off the other.

Monty pulled the SUV into a parking space at the last expressway rest stop before their destination. He glanced over at his teammate and frowned in disgust. Cracker crumbs, candy wrappers, empty Big Gulp cups, and foil from a convenience store hot dog. The guy's a walking garbage dump.

Murphy caught his glance and muttered, "Long drive and we didn't stop for lunch." He fished the plastic bag from the back seat and started collecting the trash. "Sorry."

Monty pressed his lips together but minutely tilted his head sideways. "Better if trash went directly in the bag." Murphy brightened. Ah maybe he might get along well with his acerbic – or is it ascetic? – new colleague after all. Just had to do what he said when he was with him. "Will do."

"Atom and Kyle. Wanna bet on who's who?" At Monty’s confused look, “uh…the murderer and the thief, I mean.”

"Pass." He glanced at his side view mirror, relieved as Clarke and Hannigan pulled up and parked nearby in separate vehicles. "Let's go."

Since this was early afternoon the rest stop was deserted, which was a good thing. This way they didn’t have to do this briefing inside the SUV. All four agents gathered around Clarke’s SUV.

"Hannigan, Murphy, you've got Kyle. Monty and I will take Atom. One of them emptied the safe. The other stumbled on the bound and gagged owner afterward and murdered him on a grudge. Here's the search warrant for Kyle," she said, handing it to Hannigan as lead agent based on age and CBI tenure.

"Call when you've made the arrest." "Got it, Boss," Hannigan answered for both, taking the warrant. "Murphy, we drive separate, 'kay?" Hannigan heavily walked off to his car, not waiting for Murphy's reply. Murphy caught the keys Monty tossed him and hurried to follow Hannigan's car with the SUV. Monty and Clarke left shortly in the other SUV.

* * *

**_Friday Afternoon 2 p.m_**.

Murphy had opened the SUV doors open to cool it off while he had Kyle by his arm, wrists cuffed behind his back. Hannigan was on the phone out of his hearing range. They hadn't recovered any money, just a few paper bands used to secure counted bundles of $20's. A thorough search of the house hadn't turned up any other incriminating evidence. Hannigan finished and snapped his flip phone shut. Murphy firmly pushed Kyle into the back seat and closed the doors, safety lock engaged so Kyle couldn't get out.

"They got Atom, also found the murder weapon. Boss says Kyle's cleared." Hannigan smirked just a little.

Murphy frowned in confusion. Did Atom commit both the crimes or some other person might be the thief. "Cleared? Really? Uh, if he's cleared, what do we do? Do we take him to the office, take a statement before letting him go or do we just turn him loose here?"

Hannigan looked at him with his chronic dyspeptic expression. "Boss said she's cleared him," he confirmed. "–Look, I gotta go. Clarke okay'd it since the case is wrapped up. I'm s'posed to meet someone a little farther north of here. Boss's gotta meet with Marcus so you and Monty drive back together."

Murphy scratched the back of his neck. "Okay. See you Monday," he said to Hannigan's back as he walked away and quickly drove off.

He knew he should have waited for Monty to arrive but Murphy hauled Kyle back out of the SUV. He said, "You're cleared, Kyle. Guess I have to let you go." He moved to unlock the cuffs, and then paused as the other CBI SUV pulled up. Monty pulled a manacled Atom out of the back seat. Clarke drove off immediately without even a glance in their direction. She already would be late for her meeting with Marcus and the SacPD.

Monty walked Atom over, arm firmly in his grip. Murphy refocused on Kyle and unlocked his handcuffs as Monty put Atom in the back seat. Kyle looked around in disbelief, then edged away and started to run. "Hey!" Atom yelled. "Where the hell's he going? He’s the damn thief!"

Monty looked up to the other side of the SUV. "What the–" He sprinted after Kyle, tackled him, reached around and swore. His cuffs were on Atom. "Give me your cuffs." Murphy hurried over, embarrassment and dread breaking across his face. Monty pulled Kyle upright and half-walked, half-dragged him to the SUV.

"Get in." Once they were in, "Turn around, hands to me." He growled, "Don't add resisting arrest to your woes." Kyle meekly let Monty re-cuff him with his hands in front. A steel loop bolted to the floor ensured he would be secured during the long drive to Sacramento. Murphy did the same for Atom. Monty's glare cut through Murphy like a laser. Monty got in the driver's seat. Murphy handed him the keys and they drove off, not a word between them. The two suspects started to whine till Monty threatened to gag them unless they shut up. The silence was deafening.

A half-hour into the drive Monty finally asked, immense discipline keeping his tone neutral. "Why let him go?"

"Boss said he was cleared."

Monty scowled and huffed. "Red tape was cleared with the locals. So we could take Kyle in for questioning. Who said let him go?"

Damn. That asshole played him. He trusted him. Murphy opened his mouth, and then snapped it shut. He swallowed. "I- No one. I got it wrong." Clarke will have his badge for this. Just when he thought his career was moving upwards. Better start looking again.

Monty noted the fleeting expression of betrayal. Then Murphy's face hardened into anger and shame that remained throughout the drive. Monty had two and half hours to think through. First there was Hannigan. What kind of agent leaves a suspect with a novice on their first case? He had personal business just near the area where they arrested the suspect, such a weird coincidence. Clarke seemed to trust him but he had his doubts. Jury is still out on him. Then there’s John ‘Idiotic’ Murphy. What was that back there? Was he really that naïve? Monty left SacPD because he respected Clarke and he knew they would get high profile cases but working with these two idiots would be the end of him. An occasional flicker of expression was the only clue that he was mulling over the events.

* * *

_ **Marcus, Clarke and SacPD** _

_ **Friday evening** _

"...The case now cuts across jurisdictions. I understand SacPD wants to transfer it to the CBI," Marcus opened as Clarke settled into her chair at the conference table. She'd bent her rule and state rules against speeding but was still a few minutes late.

"I was held up at a crime scene. Apologies." She nodded to the three men, already familiar with the SacPD contingent from occasional past collaborations.

SacPD Police Chief Jeffrey Franklin picked up from Marcus. "That's correct. There are ten victims so far, the last two near LA a few months ago. I hoped the latest would finally let us nail the bastard, but the leads petered out."

"Do you expect more outside the Sacramento area?" "We just don't know. The LA murders aren't a good sign. He has murdered elsewhere before - Stockton, for instance. But LA is definitely a change. No reason to assume he'll stay around Sacramento anymore." He turned to his detective. "Jackson, you're lead on this case. Give us a summary."

"The murders started seven years ago and are sporadic, usually one or two a year. They all have the same MO–" He glanced around the table and they all nodded. Everyone was familiar with the MO in the high profile case so he skipped the details. "Other than almost all being women, there isn't much else in common. There was never any forensic evidence, never any witnesses. The only time we found a connection to the victims was the LA murders - and that was damned thin."

"Hardest kind of case," murmured Clarke.

"Exactly," agreed Jackson.

"Unfortunately our 'experience' with the case doesn't buy much." Franklin spoke again. "Listen, Marcus. SacPD doesn't have the jurisdiction, isn't equipped to handle a serial killer who operates far away. This rightly belongs with the CBI."

Marcus tapped his pencil, expression giving nothing away. He finally sighed. "Wish I could disagree. The CBI will take the case. –Griffin? Any questions?"

"I get to pick your brains, Jackson? And your team's too?"

"’Course," he nodded.

"That's all then," she shrugged.

Franklin rose and shook hands with Marcus and Clarke. "Thanks. I'll have the files shipped here – care of Griffin?"

"Special Crimes Unit, fifth floor," she clarified.

"See you next week for poker, Jeff."

"I’m happy to take your money, Marcus."

Marcus waited till Franklin and Jackson filed out. He leaned back and grimaced. "You willing to tackle this, Griffin?"

"Needs doing, Boss. I can keep working new cases, right?" she asked, a bit anxious.

Marcus waved his hand. "Yeah, yeah. The case's been around seven years, it's as cold as it gets." He leaned forward. "Griffin, I'll be blunt. Four SacPD teams tried and failed. Other CBI unit leaders think it's an albatross."

Tightly, "I'm no Pollyanna. But I've gotta believe solid police work and elbow grease can make a difference. High risk, high reward."

"That it is," he said, grumpy as usual. "You know what McTeer was like. Next killing and this will be all over the news. Again. Lots of publicity, lots of political pressure."

He leaned back and eyed her speculatively. "Griffin – Clarke – that's one reason I recruited you. The CBI has too many unit leaders who play it safe. Usually someone more experienced would get this."

"Sir, the only thing I ask is you let me keep it till we crack the case." She unsuccessfully squelched a grin. "Getting my last position filled would help!"

"Clarke, Clarke," he shook his head in mock sadness. "The reality is no new hires for next few months. I promise you can fill all four positions soon. –Hmm. How's Hannigan?"

She drew a deep breath. "Started last week, just wrapping up our first case with him. Old school but he's doing the work."

Marcus huffed. "Not fooling me, Clarke. Hannigan's CBI record looks okay, but he has a history with SacPD. Too many banged up suspects. Too many arrests that didn't hold water in court. Tight leash, Clarke."

"Yes, sir."

He flicked his wrist. "It's Friday night. Go enjoy your weekend."

* * *

_ ** Friday evening.** _

_ **Serious Crimes Unit** _

They reached the CBI just after the end of the work day. Atom and Kyle were put in separate interrogation rooms. Murphy watched as Monty interrogated both suspects separately, his first opportunity to see him work. Monty quickly extracted confessions with the information and evidence they had. Murphy was impressed, also further embarrassed. He turned the two over to the CBI guards who would transport them to the county jail for induction into the justice system.

Clarke was back at the CBI building by 6:15. Monty was adding videotapes to the case evidence. Murphy was at his desk. Hannigan's empty desk snagged her attention for a second till she remembered she'd given him permission to leave after the arrests.

Monty followed her into her makeshift office, followed hesitantly by Murphy.

"Status?" she asked as they all sat down in her office.

Monty replied, "Atom and Kyle confessed. They're on their way to the county jail."

She smiled. "Good work. Anything else I need to know about?" Her eyes narrowed as Murphy glanced nervously at Monty, looking like he's waiting for the other shoe to drop. What?

"No," Monty answered. Murphy just nodded his head and swallowed roughly.

"Take off, you two. We inherit a serial killer cold case from SacPD next week. We'll get new cases, too."

"Good." Monty waited a second, and then left, trailed by Murphy. Murphy gathered his things and was gone after a few minutes.

Clarke straightened her desk, and then went for a cup of coffee, hoping it wasn't sludge by now, at the end of the day. Mug in hand, she paused at seeing Monty still at his desk and walked over. He looked up as she paused.

"Boss?"

"Something's eating you. What's up?" She caught a flicker of a frown, and then it was gone.

"Nothing." He tilted his head the slightest bit. "Who did you talk to after we got Atom?"

"Hannigan." She could see a piece of puzzle fall into place for him.

Monty had heard Clarke’s side of the conversation. She didn't tell Hannigan to turn Kyle loose. She said the red tape was cleared with the locals. What the hell did Hannigan tell Murphy? And then he took off, leaving Murphy holding the bag. Shit. \

"Monty?"

"Nothing, Boss."

She waited a few moments more, then let it go. "Get outta here. Have a good weekend."

* * *

"Two more steps. Get the door?"

"Yeah." Monty fumbled behind him while holding his end of Murphy's couch.

"Drop your end so we can get around the corner."

He nudged the door fully open with his shoulder, and then pushed the couch high. The couch made it around the corner with an inch to spare.

"In front of the fireplace."

Monty grunted, busy repositioning his hands without dropping it. They jockeyed it into position and gently set it down, panting from the exertion. "What's it made of, lead? Cripes, Murphy."

"I know it's big." He stepped back and closed the door, inspecting the wall before returning.

"Thanks. Appreciate not banging up the wall." Monty nodded and dropped down onto the couch. "That’s it?"

"Yep. Thanks, man. I'll help with your next move."

"August." Monty glanced over.

"I'm moving next August."

"Why? Your place is great and you've only been there two months."

"Morning traffic stinks."

Murphy fetched a rag and wiped his face. "Ready for beer and pizza?"

"Yeah."

"Let's go."

The neighborhood was filled with classic, old houses that were gradually being rehabbed. Rents were reasonable because crime was still high. Several casual restaurants and bars had opened to cater to the influx of yuppies - young, urban professionals.

"Here you go. One large. Half everything, and half pepperoni and extra cheese," she announced cheerfully, sliding the pizza onto the stand. The 20-something brunette gave a smile guaranteed to boost her tip by five percent. "'Another round?" "Sure," Murphy replied for both. "Two," he said, sliding the empty bottles toward her.

Monty watched Murphy watch the waitress walk away, hips pleasantly swaying.

"Brunettes?"

"Huh?" His attention returned to Monty.

"Got a thing for Brunettes?"

"Got a thing for pretty young women."

"Ask her out."

Murphy winced and reached for a slice of pizza. "Nah. Need to focus on work for awhile."

They inhaled the first few slices, hungry from moving Murphy in. Monty leaned back, observing Murphy work his way through his half. Murphy finally looked at him, uncomfortable under Monty's unblinking gaze. "What?" he asked around the bite he was chewing, and then thought to wash it down with beer.

"What happened with Hannigan?" He had already put it together what happened back there but still needed to hear it from him.

Murphy looked down. "I screwed up."

"Know that. Why?"

Murphy tossed his half-eaten piece onto his plate and shoved it roughly away. "What the hell does it matter? I screwed up. And I owe you for not telling Clarke."

"It matters who has my back. Why?" Murphy tipped his chair against the wall and took a swig of beer, delaying. He finally muttered, "Nothing I could report." When Monty's gaze didn't waver he explained, "Hannigan said Clarke cleared Kyle. I assumed he meant cleared as a suspect. Stupid."

Monty leaned forward. "That's one hell of an assumption you know that right. Why didn't you ask?"

Almost inaudibly, "I did."

"What?"

Angry, too loud, "I did! I asked if that meant let him go. Hannigan repeated Kyle was cleared, and then left. -Dammit, I was played like a virgin."

"Why'd you fall for it? You know better. You should better than that." It wasn't a question. Murphy looked at him, realizing Monty knew – something – about his past. Bitterly. "Didn't expect to be screwed by a team member." Monty dropped his gaze and reached for more pizza. Murphy looked straight at him.

"Why didn't you tell Clarke?"

Calmly. "Didn't know the story. And–" he took a bite, took his time chewing, "if it's a choice between you and Hannigan , I know I don't want Hannigan."

"Well," hesitant again, "thanks."

Monty looked at him levelly. "You've had your one pass." Then after a moment waving his index finger between the two of them, "I want this to work out."

A trifle uncomfortable, "Me too. Won't happen again."

"Good."

That was the last time the topic came up. The residual tension between them had evaporated.

* * *

_ **Malibu** _

It took him three whole weeks to enter the house. The house was full of furniture and mementos, antique dining set chairs, gilded vases and adornments, an antique rolling wooden cart that was filled with treasured vinyl records, frame upon frame of custom artwork, Persian rugs and a leather recliner. These things were a looming shadow of his past- memories too painful to summon, too sentimental to forget. He wanted to remove everything after the funeral but it felt like a betrayal. His father once reminded him to only keep special things- the ones that brought the best memories. If he wanted to move forward he needed to get rid of everything. And there was never going to be a perfect time to do, so he might as well start there and then.

* * *

_ **Clarke's Team, SCU** _

Clarke refilled her mug with coffee after finishing her sandwich at her desk. Paperwork was ubiquitous and unending in bureaucracies like the CBI. She waited for a fax to finish printing, and idly looked toward the bullpen. Murphy was kidding Monty at his desk. As soon as Hannigan walked in, Murphy tensed up and walked away. Three weeks. Yet whatever happened on that Atom case isn't going away. Crap. Not a great start for teamwork. She tore the fax off and skimmed it as she walked to her office. The phone rang just as she sat down.

Stepping into the bullpen. "Got one down in Lodi. Fire. Could be bodies inside."

Hannigan got up from his desk. "Why us? PD can't handle it?"

"Seems similar to several in other cities. Arson, always with dead bodies. Could be someone is offering one-stop shopping – arson and hit job bundle."

Murphy added under his breath, "All for one low, low price." Clarke glared at his tasteless quip. Murphy shrugged and she looked away.

The four grabbed their things and headed out, taking two SUV's in case they had to split up. When they arrived, the fire was out and the surrounding lot was a swamp of water and mud. The parking lot asphalt had melted nearest the building. Clarke directed Monty and Hannigan to interview the witnesses.

She and Murphy talked with the volunteer fire department and PD officers, and would check the burnt out building. They pushed through the crowd of gawkers, overhearing, "...real bright white ..." "... that hot before ..." "... like looking into the sun ..." "...water hit and it, like, exploded..."

Dirty, tired, smudged with soot, the fire chief gave them the initial briefing. "Call came in at 10:07 a.m. They made electronics stuff here, never any problems before. We had four units and it took three hours to put out. Something exploded inside when water hit it. Fire was way hotter than what I'd usually expect, even for an industrial site."

Murphy glanced at Clarke who nodded her approval. "Chief, did they manufacture things here, or just assemble them?"

He frowned. "Just assembly, I think. We require Lodi businesses to file reports on hazardous materials they use. Don't think there was anything unusually hazardous on file."

"But the characteristics of the fire suggest otherwise?"

"Bright white fire – at least for a bit. Heat intense enough to start melting the parking lot. Even though there's that lawn buffer. Something's unusual." Murphy seemed satisfied, so Clarke stepped back into it."We were called because bodies were reported inside?"

His brow corrugated into deep furrows. "Witness who called it in said she saw someone inside earlier. We didn't see any bodies. Sure as hell wouldn't be any survivors. Burnt out shell, now."

"Is it safe to go inside?"

He grimaced and rubbed a strip of skin that got singed between his mask and neck. "Still hot, don't touch anything. No imminent danger of collapse but keep it short. I'll have a man accompany you."

Flashlight in hand, Murphy was half way to what remained of the entrance. "Murphy! We go in together."

The younger agent paused till Clarke and the assigned fireman caught up. They gingerly stepped inside, glad their practical, thick-soled shoes protected them from the sizzling hot concrete. The inside looked like a war zone. Walls were black with soot, dripping from the water poured on to quench the fire. Furniture was now charred, indistinct lumps and a steel assembly line had become a twisted, partly melted ribbon. Their noses wrinkled at the acrid smells of burnt wood, melted plastic, garlic (of all things), and hundreds of other substances emitting toxic fumes. Murphy's halogen flashlight cut through the gloom, though smoke and dust diffused the light past a few yards.

"Murphy," she coughed a little before continuing, "look for bodies first."

They split up and quickly checked the small building. "Boss!" She made her way back from the other side of the building. Murphy was crouched next to a pile of ash. Light glinted off a few melted pieces of metal and something shiny – glass? – in the middle. Clarke came over but was unable to stop coughing.

"Ma'am, you both need to get outta here. We can fit you with oxygen tanks so you can breathe."

Clarke and Murphy reluctantly made their way to the entrance again, coughing and shielding their mouths with their suit jackets. Monty and Hannigan were waiting outside.

Once she stopped coughing, "What did you get?" Monty responded, "Most were gawkers. Three witnesses may actually know something." He flipped open his notepad. "Saw the fire at 10:02. Thought she saw someone going in earlier. Tried the door, which was locked, then called 9-1-1. Another witness said the building was empty because of the Veteran's Day holiday. Several mentioned it burned with brilliant white light and was unusually hot." He motioned to the melted asphalt near the building.

Hannigan added, "Fire guys said no bodies. Maybe it isn't our business."

Clarke glanced at him in irritation. "Get tanks from the firemen and we'll all go inside. Murphy thinks he's got something." Hannigan threw Murphy a dirty look.

Oblivious, Murphy eagerly made his way back to the location they'd been earlier. Between breaths of oxygen, he explained. "This is definitely arson. The fire started here–" he pointed a short distance away. "Garlic smell is characteristic of burning white phosphorous–"

"Like in munitions?" hazarded Monty.

"Yeah. But someone really wanted everything incinerated. That assembly line is partly melted. Stainless steel melts at 1,400 to 1,500 degrees Fahrenheit – way hotter than a house fire. Here." He pointed back to the area that originally caught his attention. "This is the clincher. This–" he indicated the small, clear oval with his toe, "is a diamond."

At their raised eyebrows, "It's in the middle of a blob of melted yellow metal. Gold melts at 2,000 degrees, but diamonds require 6,000 degrees." He swept his arm over the low mound of ash. "Seems likely this was the body of a woman. The diamond and gold were from an engagement ring. Murder."

Hannigan sourly countered, "So the woman got caught in a fire and died. Accident."

Murphy looked up, eyebrows furrowed. "Cremations are usually done at 1,400 to 1,800 degrees and take hours. Someone made damn sure there'd be no incriminating body. The garlic smell indicates white phosphorous was used, probably to start the fire." He nodded to acknowledge Monty's guess, "Then I bet he used a little powdered magnesium, which burns at 5,600 degrees when exposed to air."

"Why just 'a little'?" asked Monty.

"Couldn't be much or the whole building would be a melted heap. I think he placed a small container of powdered magnesium on the body. The fire started by the phosphorus released the magnesium which cremated the body. The brilliant white light, the explosions when water hit the building are consistent with magnesium." He got up and drew a long breath of oxygen from his tank. He dusted his hands, pleased at the chance to apply his expertise.

"Good work, Murphy. Put a marker here so Forensics knows where to look. Everyone outside," Clarke ordered. She handed out assignments for investigating the case. Clarke let Monty and Murphy team up; she took Hannigan.

Monty drove. Eyes on the road, he commented, "Nice catch, Murphy."

"Thanks," Murphy replied despite his surprise.

The diamond proved to be their break. It was engraved with a mandated identifier to stop trade in "blood diamonds" from Africa. That led to the diamond purchaser, a motive, and a description of the arsonist. The arsonist gave up the hit man, deciding his partner was worth less than a lighter sentence. Four cases were solved by their work, and Clarke got letters of appreciation from the mayors in three of the towns where the arsons had occurred. Slowly but surely, the SCU was building a record. Despite the new, young team, their close rate was now on par with the rest of the CBI.

* * *

_ **Red John** _

_ **Teams Lisbon and Jackson** _

The SacPD detective looked around and snorted, "Are they fixing it or destroying it?"

Clarke gave Jackson a half-smile free of amusement. "S'posed to be fixing it. I'm told the building's gonna be worse before it gets better. –Coffee?" When they nodded, she led them to the break area and then to an interrogation room.

The CBI was legally required to provide a private place for lawyers to meet with their clients, so the interrogation-observation rooms had gotten priority. The CBI employees were disgruntled that the needs of suspects and the occasional lawyer took precedence over people who worked in the building, but grumbling got them nowhere. It was just another "grin and bear it" situation. Earlier, Clarke had Murphy, Hannigan and Monty move more chairs into the room for the six of them to meet.

The six crowded into the small room. She made the introductions. "Detectives Jackson and Graham from SacPD. Agents Cho, Hannigan and Rigsby. Jackson and Graham will brief us on the Red John case."

Jackson and Graham gave them an overview of the ten Red John murders to date. Neither one needed any notes for the detailed briefing. Clarke got the sinking feeling that there was no lack of effort or rigor to explain why the case hadn't been solved. It was simply a damned hard case. They finished by going over the most recent killing last.

"Gina Blake, age 28, and Charlotte Blake, age 5, both killed about ten months ago, in Malibu. Discovered by the husband, Bellamy Blake, when he got home from a live TV performance in LA. That was the only case where we could establish a connection between the killer and the victims."

"Good," Clarke said then censored herself. "Uh, I mean–"

Jackson took pity on her. "Know what you mean. 'Good' that there's a connection that maybe could lead to the killer. Not good for the Blake family."

She silently added, No 'family' any more, just one sad survivor. Clarke's team had read the files SacPD sent over. This meeting was about the impressions, hunches, and odd details that wouldn't show up in the official record, but might be important to solving the case.

"The connection was that the idiot talked about Red John on TV, right? You sure he didn't do it?" asked Hannigan.

"That was the connection. A hundred people in the live audience equals airtight alibi."

Monty interjected, "Why did he talk about Red John?"

Jackson sighed. "He's a celebrity 'psychic.' Talks to the dead, that sort of thing. One of the hosts asked him about Red John–"

"Just out of the blue?"

Jackson shrugged uncomfortably. "Don't know if it was a planted question. Anyhow, Blake occasionally advised PD's on cases for years, including Red John."

Monty shook his head in disgust and pity. "So the question could have come up legitimately?"

"Yeah. We checked out the hosts and the audience members. Nothing suspicious about any of them. Don't think Red John manufactured the situation."

Murphy frowned. "Why would a PD bother with a psychic? It's all BS, right?"

Graham rubbed the back of his neck. "No comment. This guy's given LAPD some amazing leads over the years."

Hannigan said sharply, "But you're sure he isn't somehow connected to the crimes, to have info like that?"

"Positive."

Clarke asked a question for the first time since the briefing. "Have you gone back and tried to correlate the details of the murders?"

Jackson replied, "We just started on that, but didn't finish. New cases took precedence."

"I think that's where we'll start then. Sift through the files for any common elements, Re‑interview the victims' relatives and witnesses. We'll start with the most recent case and work backwards. Any other suggestions?"

Jackson shook his head. "The witnesses never saw much of anything, but it can't hurt. No, we don't have any better ideas. –Uh, the Blake case was the most recent, but you may have a problem."

Sharply, "Why, isn't he cooperative?"

"Too cooperative. Hell, he was bugging us weekly about progress. A real nuisance. But he stopped all of a sudden."

"Why?"

"No idea. Dropped out of sight seven months ago. No one knows where he is."

"Relatives, friends, manager, publicist?"

"His sister. Octavia Blake. We tried but couldn’t trace her at all. I don't think she knows anything. He has no other relatives we know of. They didn't have a lot of friends, so nothing there. He stopped the TV show cold and his manager hasn't heard from him at all, except his previous agreement means he’s maintaining his accounts and also paying bills for the house. We thought Red John might have targeted him, but the body probably would have turned up by now."

Clarke shook her head in disgust. Blake was the newest and closest connection - hell, the only connection - to the serial killer. And he was missing. She looked at the men from SacPD. "Anything I should be asking that I'm not?"

Jackson pulled a photo from his breast pocket. "I'm gonna offer a piece of advice." He laid a crime scene photo of the ninth and tenth Red John victims – Gina and Charlotte Blake – on the table. "This bastard is vicious and smart and persistent. The murders are random, not crimes of passion. Anyone could be a target. Make sure your families and friends stay out of his cross hairs. It's not through lack of trying that we didn't get him."

They stared at the gory, gut-twisting scene for a moment. Finally, Clarke stirred and spoke. "We'll keep that in mind. I can see no effort was spared. Thanks for your help."

The meeting broke up, handshakes all around. Jackson and Graham welcomed any questions any time. Last to leave, Clarke stopped short to avoid bumping into a Napa County sheriff being given a tour by McCreary. She nodded politely at both of them without really seeing them as she hurried to her office, wondering what calls came in during the meeting.

* * *

_ **Clarke's Team** _

It was a quarter after. Clarke noticed Hannigan's desk was empty, and shrugged it off with the assumption he was in the men's room or on another floor. Clarke got coffee at half past, this time not ignoring the still-empty desk. Hannigan finally showed up an hour later.

"Hannigan, follow me." She strode to the observation room and waited till Hannigan arrived. She held the door open as he brushed past her, then closed and locked it. He stood next to the table in the dimly lit room. Clarke stood for a moment, looking her agent up and down.

"Is there a reason you're late?"

He swallowed. "Car wouldn't start. Had to wait to get it jumped."

Quietly, "Your phone didn't work either?"

He didn't answer. She inhaled then exhaled slowly, keeping a tight grip on her temper.

"You're hungover. And I smell alcohol on your breath." He flashed back to brushing by her, realizing he'd been nailed. "I won't tolerate drunks. Puts the team at risk. Not to mention the public." She paused. Coldly, "Hannigan, you're barely earning your keep. You're slacking off and a pain in the ass to deal with. This is the first and last time you show up hungover or smelling like a bar. Understood?"

He grimaced, angry and belligerent. "Yeah."

"And get rid of the bottle in your desk."

He looked up, face contorted in anger. "What about your–"

Furiously, "Don't!" After a minute, back in control, "Marcus would fire my ass if I start coming in hung over smelling like booze. Expect the same."

Two quick steps and she was out, the door banging loudly against the wall. The day went downhill from there. Clarke spent her lunch hour in the CBI's basement gym. Surprisingly it was one of the first perks available to employees because a previous tenant had renovated it into an employee fitness center. Clarke whipped out her leg, kick solidly connecting with the heavy bag. Usually she could lose herself in the exertion while burning off the anger and frustration. Yeah, I know Hannigan resents me. *Thwack* Wife divorced him five years ago and– *slap* –he screwed up his career at SacPD. Not. My. Fault– *thud* –he can't cope. This time the exercise didn't wipe Hannigan's sour face from her mind. Dammit! Hannigan's visage gradually morphed into her father's face. Not the loving face of her childhood. *Thwack* The enraged, drunken image from her teen years. Finally, her anger had burned off, replaced by exhaustion. Guilt rose like bile, the betrayal of her faith by her feelings cutting like a razor. She hadn't been able to save her father. It increasingly seemed Hannigan was determined to self-destruct, too. She showered, changed, and was at her desk when the call came in from the SFPD.

* * *

**_ Bellamy, Malibu_**.

It took him a week to clear everything. He called the auction house to donate custom made artwork as well as the antique furniture. He moved every other item to the spare room in the house where he would never touch them again. He only kept a few things. An old kettle, a turquoise cup and saucer set, his daughter’s mattress and his clothes. He even burned all his shiny ‘TV psychic suits’ that reminded him of what he had done, how his arrogance and recklessness cost him everything. Two innocent lives were the price he paid for that. He kept his old three piece suits that were in the back of the closet. Those were comforting, also worn before he made the decision that turned their lives upside down.

After a shower he put on just a white shirt and a pant from the suit. By nightfall Bellamy had dragged his daughter's twin mattress into his bedroom - what used to be his and Gina's bedroom. He put it under the reddish-brown smiley face. The trademark symbol that was left by the vicious killer, also haunted every second of his life, known as RED JOHN. This symbol would spur him in his quest for vengeance. Should he be tempted to move on, this obscene mark drawn with his family's blood would remind him of his duty to Gina and Charlotte. He would hunt, and kill, the murderer of his family. Or die trying. Only that could ease his guilt for causing their deaths.

Bellamy fell into fitful sleep, soon broken by the predictable nightmares. He woke at dawn and realized he had to get started. Staying in the barren, ghost-ridden house had already weakened the shaky foundations of his sanity. Descent back into depression and madness would defeat him. He showered and found pants and a clean - if wrinkled - shirt to wear. It was time to get some answers.

* * *

**_Red John Crime Scene, San Francisco_**.

Judging by the report of a slashed victim under a red smiley face, they had just gotten their first Red John case. They left immediately on the two-hour drive. Clarke and Hannigan rode in one SUV, Murphy and Monty in the other. They found the location - an upscale neighborhood of manicured lawns and large houses. After parking behind the squad cars, they made their way through the crowd and flashed their badges as they ducked under the tape.

Striding up to the clump of uniforms and suits, Clarke opened, "Senior Agent Clarke Griffin from the CBI. Who's in charge?"

A detective she didn't know stepped forward. "I'm Detective Greene, SFPD. The murder was reported just after noon when the cleaning woman let herself in. "Looks like a Red John murder."

"What's known about the victim?"

"Julie Darman. White female, 28, married no children. Husband's on a business trip. Neighbors say he should be back any time now. No record other than a few parking tickets. Uh," he consulted his notes, "–graduated from Berkeley in 2000 and is – was – working for a law firm in the city. Firm says she went home then returned at 8 p.m. to finish a document. She left for the night at 10 p.m." He motioned with his chin toward the gaggle of onlookers, "The officers questioned the crowd but no one saw anything."

"Forensics?"

"Since it's a Red John case, thought you'd want CBI Forensics to handle it."

"Yes, thank you. I asked for a team to be sent before I left."

***** WARNING: Graphic crime scene*** **

Clarke ordered her three agents to canvass the crowd before it dispersed and check any nearby neighboring houses. She followed Greene inside. Her team would follow when they finished. The heavy smell of blood foretold the scene as she climbed the stairs. Horrific! There was no other word, but it was much too feeble to do justice to the sight. Maybe she had freed her arm and tried to fight back, accounting for blood sprayed over three walls from a severed artery. Astonishingly, a crude tourniquet was applied to one wrist. That way she wouldn't die too soon, wouldn't prematurely escape the pain. Her wrists and ankles were bound to the four posts. The agony on her face meant she was conscious as the killer tortured and eviscerated her. Numerous shallow cuts maximized pain, care taken not to kill too soon. The final cuts sliced through skin, muscle, and organs. The viscera were neatly piled alongside the deathly white corpse. Blood had pooled under her neck, where her throat was slit - the final, decisive cut. Smudges on the bed made it clear where the killer had dipped his three fingers to paint the smiley face above her.

*************

Clarke ducked out of the room and leaned against the hall wall, eyes momentarily closed. She had seen crime scene pictures in the Red John files. They didn't begin to prepare her for the reality. After a moment she regained control and returned to the room. She needed to understand what had happened, look for anything that could help identify and stop the animal responsible. Monty appeared at her side a few minutes later. His face remained impassive, though a few shades too pale for normal.

"Anything?"

"Not much. One neighbor saw a light in the bedroom at 2 a.m., but thought nothing of it."

"Tell Murphy to collect any CCTV recordings in a quarter mile radius. We don't know the TOD, but– Oh." She turned. "Dr. Barker, can you give us any idea of the TOD?" she asked the medical examiner who had just arrived.

He surveyed the corpse, swallowing heavily. "Normally we'd use the liver temperature, but– Here, let's just go by rigor mortis for a quick estimate." After a few minutes, "I'd say TOD is safely within the 1 a.m. to 3 a.m. range."

Clarke continued. "Have Murphy pull everything from 8 p.m. to 4 a.m." At Monty's raised eyebrows she explained, "Don't know when he got here." Monty left.

Ten minutes later a commotion outside grabbed Clarke's attention as she was systematically analyzing the crime scene. "You oaf, I'll have your badge. It's my house and I want to see what happened to my wife!"

"The body's upstairs, sir," Hannigan's voice said.

A 20-something man dashed up the stairs and stopped dead in the doorway as the full import of the scene struck him. He vomited, took another breath of blood-scented air, and then collapsed.

Clarke swore under her breath. "Hannigan! Why the hell did you let him up here, dammit?!"

Hannigan arrived, breathing heavily from climbing the flight of stairs. "I didn't–" He paused and swallowed. He weakly continued, "He insisted and ran up here." He took a good look around then turned and went back downstairs.

Monty passed him on the way and muttered just loud enough for Hannigan to hear, "You're an ass, Hannigan." No matter how arrogant or pompous the husband had been, his wife's murder scene would be an indelible image. Hannigan had amused himself on other occasions by letting civilians get an eyeful of gruesome murder scenes – often when a family member was the victim.The ME asked Monty to help move Darman into the hall, and snapped an ammonia inhalant capsule to revive him.

* * *

_**Bellamy Blake**_.

The garage sheltered three of his vintage cars. Bellamy chose the oldest and most modest, the one he and Gina bought once they could afford more than necessities. He ran his hand over the sensuous lines of the old Citroen, got in, and began the long drive to Sacramento. He needed to be where information about the case was, where the people charged with catching the killer worked. That would be his starting point.

It was months since he had talked with Detective Jackson. He fantasized about whether there was a break in the case and wondered if Red John's capture would be a good thing. Shame engulfed him at selfishly craving to be the hand that killed the bastard (though he still coveted it). Delay would mean more victims, more destroyed families. If Red John were ever in his hands, he would kill him like a rabid dog, without remorse. But anything that terminated the evil had to count as good. The smartest man in the room, the man who was always ten steps ahead failed to plan.

Physical pressure intruded on his reflections and forced him to pull onto the shoulder of the interstate. Jane half walked, half slid down the embankment and ducked into the trees to relieve himself. The fastidious man was disgusted at being so out of it as to necessitate the crude bathroom break. Walking back, he tripped on a tree root. He was unharmed but his clothes were in disarray and smudged with dirt. He didn't notice.

The clerk of the Sacramento Police Department called Detective Jackson to the front desk. Jackson politely greeted Bellamy Blake. Good Bellamy is alive and well – um, alive at least. Glad he's no longer my headache. Jackson told Bellamy that the Red John case was now the business of the CBI and referred him to Senior Agent Clarke Griffin. Jackson meant to alert Lisbon as soon as he got rid of Jane, but a new case intervened. It was old news by the time he did call.

* * *

** _Serious Crimes Unit, California Bureau of Investigation_ **

One week later they had run down every lead to a dead end. Red John murder number eleven was no closer to being solved than the first ten. The publicity firestorm died down when there was truly no news. California citizens again took extra precautions for months until the Red John murder was replaced with some new threat in the public consciousness. When the publicity died down, the SCU received a note welcoming them to the Red John case. It was signed with a red smiley face drawn in Julie Darman's blood. No fingerprints, DNA, or postmark. Clarke had her agents spend any spare time studying the Red John files and gradually re‑interviewing every witness, suspect, relative and friend associated with every murder. Frustratingly, eight months after his family's murder, the elusive Bellamy Blake remained unreachable. The only consolation was the strong likelihood that Bellamy wouldn't make any difference. But deep down she wished that at least he was in contact with them so that they could find a connection or find a single clue which might help in finding this elusive killer. It wasn't clear whether Clarke Griffin had the Red John case. Or whether the Red John case had her.

* * *

**_CBI Premises_**

Bellamy stood outside looking at the century-old building. He was surprised at the warm, weathered, human character of the building which housed what he imagined to be a cold, efficient, blunt instrument of justice – the California Bureau of Investigation. He shook himself a little before entering. He couldn't afford to keep drifting off. He needed to talk or trick his way around the inevitable bureaucratic red tape to get the information he wanted. Needed. He huffed. They sure won't intentionally help me kill the psychopath. Maybe being the spouse and - he swallowed – father of victims is enough to explain my interest. I'll make it enough. A moment later he had talked his way into the building and learned the location of the SCU. The security guard did search him thoroughly, however.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for being late in posting this chapter. Next update will be done in a week. Thank you everyone who have spent their time reading last chapter and for all the kudos. I know this couple of chapters have been a little boring but we have set up the team and how they meet. The show uses numerous flashbacks to explain Bellamy's backstory but it won't suit here bcoz of lack of visuals. there will be sti flashbacks but it'll be short. Sorry there's a bit of case stuff going in this chapter but it's necessary to build Murphy's specialization and RJ's MO. Speaking of the team don't worry a couple of familiar figures will soon be part of them.
> 
> And Clarke and Bellamy are going to meet next chapter and it's going to be fun. 
> 
> If you want a background I can explain certain things...Bellamy was a celebrity psychic whose family was murdered by the killer named Red John. Clarke is from Chicago, she left home to pursue her career, her brief backstory will be coming in a couple of chapters and we'll get to know Wells soon after. 
> 
> Also a huge thank you for Louise Kurylo who deserves huge credit for inspiring me in setting up this chapter.
> 
> Thank you once again for reading guys. Constructive criticism is always welcome, since it's my first story it'll only help me.


	3. First Meeting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bellamy meets with the team.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry it took me a while to post this. Was super busy with my work so couldn't find time to write at all. But here's a monster chapter to make it up.
> 
> Thank you everyone who took their time in reading this story, also big thank you for those to left kudos and I'm really grateful for the feedback I got reg last chapter. 
> 
>   
Also just want to clarify one thing. I realized there are sometimes too many characters in a chapter that might make things a little bit confusing to keep up. So I changed it to fit minor characters with in a specific section so that it's easy to ignore them to avoid any confusion.   
There's be a small case in this chapter(marked it specifically), just like in previous chapter and it involves certain characters who have no role in this story other than to serve the case itself. So if it gets confusing please ignore those characters, they're not important. 
> 
> But please read it if you want to understand how Bellamy works. 
> 
> There will be only one or two random case in next chapter, and then we will dive into Red John storyline. That'll be the main focus of this story and it won't involve unnecessary characters at all. 
> 
> Bellamy, Clarke, Monty, Murphy and Marcus are the only characters of importance at the moment. And Raven will follow suit in next chapter. 
> 
> Anyway here's a brush up on the characters.
> 
> Bellamy is a carnie, he was a con man, a fake psychic. Red John, a serial killer, murdered his wife and daughter, a year ago. He was in a psychiatric facility for 6 months after their deaths.  
Clarke is the team leader, agent in charge at the CBI(California Bureau of Investigation). Monty and Murphy work for her. Marcus is the director of the CBI.  
Hannigan is an old detective who has some issues of his own, he's a part of Clarke's team as well since they need 4 members in a team to get new cases. 
> 
> That's all there is, so far, regarding these characters.
> 
> Thank you once again for reading this. Please give your feedback, positive or negative. Everything's appreciated.

* * *

**Chapter 3**

Clarke saw Murphy speaking to a stranger through a gap in room dividers, whose looks indicated that his home might be a cardboard box in an alley. A moment later Murphy ducked his head into her office.

“Ma’am, you have a visitor. He says his name is Bellamy Blake.”

Clarke straightened in surprise. “Bellamy Blake? Really?”

“He said he wants to talk to you.”

As a cop she had to have a good eye for faces and this man is not him. This dishevelled, hollow eyed man looked nothing like the glossy publicity photos of the TV psychic, husband and father of Red John victims nine and ten.

“Red John, right? Wife and Daughter? Almost a year ago?” Murphy recalled from their meetings with the SacPD detectives when they got the case. Bellamy had disappeared months ago despite Law Enforcement being on the lookout for him.

Hannigan announced that they found a body in Malakoff Diggins and County Sheriff wanted them on the case. She asked Murphy to take Monty with him to the initial investigation. She had one more thing to take care of before going. Clarke got up to meet him. At least they can finally interview him.

"Mr. Blake. I'm Agent Clarke Griffin. You wanted to talk to me?" Clarke asked. She extended her arm, almost afraid to shake his hand lest he crumble at her touch.

"Hi," he responded softly. "Um, Detective Jackson said that you're in charge of the - the Red John investigation?" he asked uncertain. His family's destruction had shattered his self-confidence, his belief he could predict and control people and events. The enormity of this step intensified his every apprehension: He was hunting a man to kill him. “What’s happening with the investigation?”

One clear look at him told her he was not going to be any help. So much for an interview she was hoping for. Maybe if he was available at a later date. They had to solve this without his help for now. “That’s a big question Mr. Blake. Right now another case has come in. Could you come back another time?”

However tentative, Bellamy doggedly asked and pushed for information, for a meeting to get information, for the opportunity to just wait until she had time to answer questions. However polite, Clarke deflected and resisted. For the first time in a year, he had a goal to actually do something for his family. Or for their memory, echoed the thought faintly in his head.

“Oh...I can wait. I’ll wait.” It’s not like he had anything else to do anyway. Time is the one thing he had in abundance.

“That’s not really practical. Our office is under reconstruction and we don’t really have a waiting area around here.” Well that’s the truth anyway.

“I could sit right there.” He pointed towards the bench outside her office, one that she has failed to notice before. They must have put it there recently.

He was persistent. She had to give him that. But she had no time for this and even though she felt sympathetic to his plight he was not her problem. She already had one too many problems on her hands. He needed help but not from her.

“I’m sorry, it’s policy.” She lied. He smirked. It seemed like he saw through her lie easily.

“Okay. Policy.” He had no intention to end this there. He lingered awkwardly for a moment before she spoke again.

“Call…make an appointment. We’ll talk as soon as possible. I’m afraid I have to go now.” Her tone sounded more businesslike but he saw sympathy in the eyes. A little bit of pity too. He can’t fault her for that.

“Yeah. No. I could wait outside”

“Mr. Blake.”

“That’s okay. It’s a nice day. I’ll take a walk. If I come back in three hours would that be okay?”

“Sure.”

She searched the bullpen for Hannigan and asked the senior agent to escort him out of the building. “Once Mr. Blake leaves, start the vehicle. We’re expected at the crime scene. I’ll be down in a moment.”

“Okay, Boss.”

She glanced at Bellamy and nodded politely before returning to her office.

* * *

Smart. He was pretty sure of that. He was impressed by how she handled his situation. No wonder she was this higher up in the chain at such a young age. An escort ensured that he would be out of the building. But that was the last thing he wanted. He needed information and he was going to get it, whatever means necessary.

He was going through various scenarios in his mind just as the grumpy old dude, Steve or whatever his name was, escorted him to the elevator. He finally paid attention to his companion, his posture when they were waiting for the old thing to arrive on their floor. Hard posture, lips pressed together, stiff, eyes staring straight ahead, hands folded in front of him. A theory formed in his head regarding the man who was standing beside him. It was time to test his theory.

“You working on the Red John case?” he asked tentatively.

“That’s none of your business, Sir.” His tone polite but his eyes were staring straight ahead.

“Have any suspects?” he carried on as if the agent never spoke.

The old agent closed his eyes, exhaled loudly. It looked like his patience was running thin. “Like I said.”

Okay time to change gears. He tried to play on his sympathetic side. Surely he had to have one. Bile rose up to his throat in that knowledge he was using his family’s tragedy in such a way. But he had no choice. Going back was not an option. Time was of essence here and he had no other ideas available to him. He cleared his throat “It’s my wife and daughter. Red John killed my wife and daughter.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. But we don’t discuss case details with victim’s relatives.” He can see the agent was uncomfortable talking about this but carried on nonetheless. “Listen I have seen hundred guys just like you. You want to find this son of a bitch and kill him, right?”

Bellamy was stunned. That was the truth. He was left speechless for the first time since he arrived. “Yeah. What happens is that it’ll drive you crazy. My advice? Move away, start a new life. Far away from here. Start another family. I know that’s tough but it’s the best way.”

Bellamy knew what he said was true but he was in no condition to start afresh. Not when the person who killed his family was out there somewhere. His family deserved better. He owed them this. He owed their memory this, he corrected himself. Anger rose up in him replacing guilt that formed in his stomach a moment earlier.

“I just asked if there were any suspects.”

“One more time, let it go.” His tone irritated while he repeatedly pressed the elevator buttons, “Come on.”

The theory that formed in his head about the man turned out to be true after all. Just needed one more push? He can do this. “What went wrong with you?”

“Say what?” For the first time the agent looked up to his face with surprise. Good.

“Clearly you’re older and more experienced than Agent Griffin. You must have done something pretty bad for them to promote a woman, twenty years your junior, over you?”

“Who told you that?” He questioned with all politeness gone from his voice.

“It’s a temperament issue, as well as Character. That’s why they gave it to Clarke, isn’t it? She was new and clearly no one would work with you.”

Before he realized what was happening he landed on his back with a loud thud, blood pouring out of his nose. He was a little proud despite his throbbing nose. He hadn’t lost everything. He still had it in him. If there was one thing that his father installed in him as a kid, it was how to read people, push people’s buttons when needed, and which buttons to press to elicit different reactions.

* * *

Clarke returned to her desk, relieved at deflecting the relative's inquiries. Every cop quickly learned they couldn't fix the wreckage from heinous crimes. They were cops, not counselors or social workers. A cop's job was removing criminals from society to prevent further harm. And her job as unit leader included protecting her team from the drag of distraught relatives – from the wasted time, neediness, and emotional drain that complicated and slowed their work. Hannigan would escort him out. With luck, he would wander off and forget to return - at least till they needed him for the case interview. Need to focus on the Malakoff Diggins case. Monty and Murphy had already left. She and Hannigan needed to be on their way to the crime scene as soon as possible.

She was pleased too soon. Clarke couldn't make out the words, but Hannigan's all too familiar angry voice followed by a solid thud didn't bode well. She swiftly made her way to the elevator. The slight, traumatized Bellamy was on the floor with a bloody nose. Hannigan stood over him with balled fists.

"What the hell are you doing, Hannigan?!" Clarke demanded angrily.

"Boss–"

"I told you to take him downstairs, not beat him up!"

"Sorry, okay? I'm sorry. I ‑ I lost it."

Hannigan was only contrite when caught red handed. She was getting fed up. Surprisingly Bellamy protested.

"No, no. It ‑‑ it's fine. It's fine. -My fault. It was my fault entirely. I provoked you."

Clarke helped Bellamy up, steadying him as he rose shakily to his feet. “He’s a trained police officer. He was taught how to behave professionally at all time. Come on, let’s get you some Ice.”

She lowered down to pick him up. His hands were across her shoulders as she guided him out inside the bullpen. “Clarke Griffin, such a nice name.” he supplied so earnestly.

* * *

A little cleaning up and a bag of ice later, Bellamy sat at the conference table while Marcus and Clarke worked out what to do. Unsurprised at Hannigan's latest screw-up, Marcus was in full damage control mode. There would be no lawsuit or even complaint. Clarke would do whatever was necessary to guarantee it. He ignored her pro forma defense of Hannigan as irrelevant.

“How did it happen?” Marcus asked as he looked at Bellamy, pressing the ice pack over his nose, from her office.

“Hannigan says he’s provoked. Mr. Blake agrees, he says it’s his entire fault.” Clarke tried her best to absolve Hannigan from any major implication.

That got Marcus’ attention. His eyes widened in surprise. “It’s decent of him. Cop with the history of attacks on murder victim’s grieving spouse. Excellent.”

Clarke rose from where she was seated. She needed to drive home the point. “I’m sorry boss. We have to make this right without being too harsh on Hannigan. He’s a still a good guy, just old school. Mr. Blake says he won’t press charges.” She pleaded.

Still he looked unconvinced. He looked at Bellamy who was still seated at the table in the bullpen. “Let’s hope Mr. Blake remains so amiable when he wakes up in the morning with a pounding headache and time to think. We have to find a way to make him happy.” With that he made his way to the bullpen with Clarke on his toes.

“Mr. Blake. Director Marcus Kane.” He shook hands with Bellamy and sat across him at the table. Clarke picked a seat near Marcus.

“I’m terribly sorry about all of this. I understand that agent Hannigan has apologized.” Bellamy felt Clarke’s curious eyes on him as if his answer was important to her.

“Yes, he did.” He did apologize.

“I hope that’s been of some help.” Marcus offered with a gentle smile.

Bellamy studied the man across the table. He seemed sincere and genuine. He was a director. This was his chance. He did everything for this. He glanced at Clarke before he spoke reluctantly. “I came here to find out about Red John.” He uttered those words slowly in order to study the director’s reactions to those words. There was none. He was impressed.

“Yes. Agent Griffin told me. I understand your concern. Red John is one of the most difficult cases we faced. How many victims, Agent Griffin?” He enquired Clarke but Bellamy spoke before she can answer.

“Ten.” He again glanced at Clarke, “So far.” He was sure his answer surprised both of them.

“Yes” Clarke confirmed.

“Catching him is our top priority. We’re doing everything in our power to get to the bottom of this. Agent Griffin and her team have done hundreds of interviews and gone through various evidences gathered to find a clue. We’re sharing some of them with the FBI.”

Clarke intervened, “We’re pursuing a lot of different leads. We haven’t had a break yet but as soon as we get one, we’ll definitely let you know.”

Those were the politically correct answers, which were drilled into them during training, to appease the family members of the victims. But he was no fool. Never was one.

“What are the leads? Where are they leading?” He asked while looking straight at the female agent, who stared at him speechless, clearly not expecting that question. He smelled blood so he carried on. “Do you have any suspects?”

“We can’t give out the details of the investigation yet.”

“You haven’t had any suspects.” That was not a question. It was a statement. It was met with silence while the two agents looked at each other.

Clarke broke the silence. “It is a complicated investigation and yes slow but everything that had to be done have been done.” Bellamy was focused on Marcus who was looking at a specific spot on the table. It was clear he was thinking.

“I tell you what Mr. Blake; my people have to get back to work now. A long drive ahead of them, but if you don’t mind waiting here when Agent Griffin returns she’ll be very happy to show you the files and explain the case to you.” Marcus declared finally. Clarke nodded but it was clear to him that she was not enthusiastic about it.

“Is it in the country? Long drive ahead…is it in the country?” Take that. They were clearly not expecting that.

“Would you like to go along?” Marcus questioned, recovering well from the surprise. Bellamy was the one who was left speechless this time.

Marcus carried on ignoring Clarke’s questioning look. “Even better. Ride along with Agent Griffin. She can answer any questions you may have on the way.”

“I’d like that.” This was a welcome development. Anything was better than nothing. He ignored Clarke’s look of protest. He had the chance to learn about the team that is in charge of Red John case and he was never going to let go of it.

* * *

A quarter-hour later, Clarke was a little stunned at the rapid turn of events. She rode shotgun as Hannigan drove the SUV to the Malakoff Diggins crime scene. Bellamy Blake was in the back seat. She had almost gotten rid of him. And now she was obliged to shepherd him around on this case and tell him about Red John. No, worse: Give him access to the files. He lucked out when Hannigan slugged him. The silence lay heavily since not one of the three welcomed the company.

Clarke mulled the events. Bellamy Blake showed up, still shattered, almost a year after the murders and months off the radar. Wanted to know where the case was. Unbidden, the crime scene photo of his slaughtered family appeared in her mind's eye. She wanted to smother her rush of sympathy but couldn't quite manage it. She squared her shoulders. If cops got emotional there was no one to stop the perpetrators. They were cops, not grief counselors!

When he pried about the Red John case they gave him nothing but still he had known about everything. Well, almost everything. He said there were ten RJ murders. So he didn’t know about the latest one even though it was all over the news. She thought he showed up because he learned about the new case. If he didn’t know about the new case then where the hell was he all these months? She shook her head slightly. It didn’t matter. He was not her responsibility, at least once she dropped him off. Until then she was in charge of him as well, just what she needed. Marcus gave him access to Red John files, confidentiality and rules be damned. Well at least he now had the chance to know that they were nowhere near closing the damn case. Strange though…then there’s Hannigan.

Hannigan can't keep his act together. She glanced at Hannigan, irritated anew. At least Bellamy admitted to provoking him. Don't care how long Hannigan's been a cop, he had just about overdrawn Marcus’ goodwill. What was the thing that Marcus said? 'Cop with a history of attacks on murder victim's grieving spouse.' It was lawsuit material. And the publicity! Bellamy Blake was a celebrity. With his family's murder, he had the ability to generate bad press for months. She unconsciously sighed, not noticing how observant Bellamy was.

* * *

Clarke ignored Bellamy once they reached the crime scene. Three of them exited the SUV. Monty and Murphy had done the initial investigation while she ignored their questions about the presence of a stranger. Bellamy Blake was unimportant to their investigation. They just had to carry on like usual ignoring the glaring presence of a stranger. Monty briefed her about the case, murder of Winston Dellinger.

Bellamy followed them around the crime scene, out of his element, but keen to learn as much as possible. He looked down at the victim, visibly disturbed by the blood, the staring, blank eyes, violent death. It brought the images that were on back of mind to the forefront but he chose to ignore them. He needed to focus on the task at hand.

Hannigan followed him around despite the earlier events at the office. Other agents looked busy with what they were doing so he had no choice but to gather information from the stoic, old agent. He asked him about the death and what they did to investigate. What he didn’t expect was a graphic description of the crime as it happened. That left him light headed and he needed a moment.

Clarke let Hannigan babysit the visitor. He was the reason the stranger was here anyway. But when she glanced that way after some time, she saw Bellamy kneeled over, looking distinctly green. A sick civilian, just what she needed. She should have ordered him to stay in the car.

“Are you alright?” she called out.

"Yeah, I'm fine. I just, uh– Oh, I'm just a little lightheaded.”

Hannigan asked the coroner to take the body then checked in with Clarke. She ordered him the next task at hand, retracing the victim’s last footsteps.

“Find the lady.” Bellamy unexpectedly croaked, voice rough from fighting down nausea. He clambered back to his feet.

“What lady?” She asked sharply, irritated at the unexpected intrusion.

"The lady he was on a date with."

Hannigan commented, "Wow. So you are some kind of psychic. How do you figure that, Kreskin?” mocking Bellamy with the name of a 1970's TV psychic. Clarke gritted her teeth at the unnecessary comment. Jackass. Hannigan forgot he was the one responsible for Bellamy being here.

Defiantly, "There's no such thing as psychics." After a moment Bellamy continued, "He has a bachelor's car, peacock clothes. He smells of alcohol and breath mints and too much cologne." He spread his hands and voiced the obvious conclusion. "Date."

"Okay. Well, thank you for your input," she said politely and returned to her team. She had no intention of involving him in the case. What was that back there? Did he want to help them solve the case? Maybe he thought helping them in any way would go some way with his plight. But last thing she wanted was some stranger poking their nose into her business. Her team was capable enough to solve this case on their own without any help. But she kept an open mind regarding his suggestion.

Monty informed that his last credit card bill came from a restaurant and she asked him to check it out. She asked Murphy and Hannigan to ride with him. That left her with one Mr. Blake. She asked him to ride with her back to the office. She wanted to knock some sense into him before dropping him off wherever he wanted. But she had one stop to make, to visit victim’s father, who incidentally happened to be a district Judge. The meeting went from bad to worse, of course.

* * *

Clarke was furious that the morning's mess had spawned even bigger problems, courtesy of one irritating, irresponsible, ignorant civilian. She drove the SUV, eyes straight ahead, without even a glance at the person who was riding the shotgun. Clarke had stopped to interview Winston Dellinger's family and had talked to Judge Dellinger. It was her bad luck the judge wanted to talk outside, where there was no easy way of excluding the tagalong.

The interview was a disaster. Clarke was asking standard questions to learn who might have reason to kill the judge's son. The judge suggested that some criminal he had sentenced might have killed his son to get back at him.

"You want to hurt a man? Don't kill him. Kill his family."

Inexplicably, Bellamy then opined that the judge was disappointed in his son because of Winston Dellinger's alcoholism. Damn it, She retracted that and apologized, but the damage was already done. Without the lab results, there was not a shred of evidence supporting that idea. Why not trash the damn victim with some irrelevant accusation? But, no, that wasn't enough! Bellamy then said that the judge was disappointed in his son. Inexcusable. No wonder Dellinger was pissed! She decided a few pointed comments were warranted.

"Dellinger chairs the Fifth Circuit Appeals Court. Do you know how much trouble I could get in if he's pissed off?"

"No. How much?" Bellamy asked, curious, neither repentant nor pleased.

"A lot. What you have to understand–" She was interrupted by her cell phone. "Yeah? Hang on, Monty." Clarke pulled over.

"Excuse me," she said to Bellamy before stepping out of the SUV to take the call. After a moment, Bellamy also got out.

She finished the call and snapped the phone shut. “You were right. The victim was on a date. Good call.” Her anger was replaced by curiosity. By the sound of that date he might have been right about the alcohol abuse too but without any hard evidence she refused to give him the credit.Bellamy apparently picked up on her curiosity because he spoke next.

“Cold reading.”

“Cold reading?”

“You, for instance, came from a dysfunctional parent. –father probably. That’s why you put with Hannigan.”

How dare he? Who did he think he was? “I don’t put up with Hannigan.” She replied irritated.

Bellamy continued as though she hadn't spoken. "His unhappiness reminds you of your father's unhappiness."

Dismissive, "We're done for the day. Is there somewhere I could drop you off?" Clarke moved toward the driver's door.

Hesitant but determined, "What about - the Red John files?"

She faced him. "Mr. Blake, I truly sympathize. I understand how you're feeling. I would probably feel the same way." Intensely, "But nothing good will come from chasing this man. It's the kind of obsession that destroys people. Go someplace else. Try to get on with your life."

"That's just what Hannigan said."

Trapped by Marcus’ offer, she finally answered his question, "Come to the office in the morning." Disapproval clear, she added with a grimace, "But clean yourself up. You're a mess."

When they were on the road again, they lapsed into silence. She was not 'putting up' with Hannigan. He was the only way they could get new cases. She glared at Bellamy for a moment before looking back at the road. How the hell did he tell about her father? And what business was it of his? Obnoxious jerk. Her lips twitched at the last thought. At least she told him to clean up. God knows wallowing in tragedy does no good. The man should have some self respect!

Clarke dropped him off near the CBI building so he could get his car. She didn't know where he was going and, with luck, wouldn't see him till they needed him for an interview on the Red John case. Too bad he asked about the files. She had hoped that he'd forgotten hoped he would just walk away. She huffed. Even Hannigan was right about that advice. They'll do their job and get the killer. Obsessed relatives won't help.

* * *

She got home late that night. She was tired of all the work with the case and playing tour guide to Bellamy Blake. She placed the take out bag on the kitchen table and padded into her room to freshen up. Within a few minutes she was settled on the couch in front of TV. As usual there was nothing compelling enough on screen to hold her thoughts at the moment. Her thoughts drifted back to work, she had no to little information on the case to untangle the murder. Strange day otherwise though.

Bellamy Blake showed up out of nowhere after six months. Wish he had chosen to let it go. But once Hannigan hit him, he got what he wanted. Ah Hannigan, she didn’t know what to do with him. He was causing more trouble than worth it but she had no intention of going back to reading the cold case files. She might as well deal with him tomorrow. Bellamy. He looked like he crawled out of a dumpster, or a bottle. But he was on target about lot of things He, what was that word, -read her and Marcus like a book. He was right about Dellinger’s date as well as his alcoholism. If only she had the ability to pocket that cold reading talent. He was lot more interesting than your usual normal traumatized victim.

She sipped her favorite drink and it helped her relax even with caffeine in it. How can one recover from murder of their wife and child? Bellamy didn’t react even when the judge provoked him with the question about having a child. Thing that bought a response was about killing their family to hurt a person. Interesting!! She hoped Bellamy would walk away from this. Then she resolutely put aside the day’s events to the back of her mind and tried to enjoy what was on screen.

* * *

He put down his duffel bag, with basic amenities in it which he purchased on the way to the motel, on the tiny motel room bed he rented for the night. It had shower with hot water and a bed, it would do. Also the diner attached to it had great tea and good food. Heaven!

After shower he laid down on the bed mulling over the day’s events. He had access to Red John files, it was a start. The CBI agents can be ‘persuaded’ as needed. Bellamy half-smiled, surprised with himself about the honest, positive emotion he felt regarding people at the CBI. Clarke, Monty, Murphy, all likeable, if a bit stiff.

For a tiny, young and– he frowned –surprisingly attractive woman, she certainly had presence. She was a fierce little thing. Clarke had shocked him by calling him out on his slovenly appearance. He was grateful for her lack of pity. And she was right. No excuse to look a mess even if he was one.

Monty was…interesting. Unresolved past? Smart. Hilariously brusque. He smiled again. Both a natural and an intentional persona. Murphy, there was a weird one. He must be new there. Rough childhood, father he would guess based on how he hung on every word Monty said. Then there was Hannigan.

He was a slug. Shrewd but not smart. Sometimes brutal and self pitying, fitting every cop stereotype carnies had. He didn’t fit with this team. Had to figure out why he was with them then. And Hannigan just hated his guts. Didn't like the mirror he held up to him. Didn't like losing his imagined superiority, the platform for telling him what was best for his life when his own is a mess. He grinned mirthlessly. His punch hurt the agent's career more than his nose. Fool. Bellamy gently checked out said proboscis and was pleased it barely hurt.

He already had heard of Marcus a few times while working with SacPD. Firm believer in law enforcement but experienced enough to see in shades of gray. Clarke and Marcus had an interesting dynamic…perhaps father, daughter thing. They firmly believed in each other too. Bellamy turned onto his side, drowsing more contentedly than he had for months.

The murder case was interesting. Who did it? He was curious to see it solved. He had new people to read and a murder mystery to think about. (He blinked. This was his first murder case aside from the only one important to him.) Somewhat to his surprise he realized the day had given him more relief from endless thoughts about his family's murder and murderer than he could remember. It was a start alright.

* * *

Bellamy woke up for the second time. Well, it was morning at last. He never slept well and sometimes not at all, since…almost a year ago. Last night it seems he fell asleep, after waking up at midnight, garnering him six precious hours of sleep. He desperately needed that.

He took a shower, and the electric razor he bought did its job although there was slight stubble. His hair was wild and curls fell all over his forehead similar to what he had in his youthful days. He put on his new suit and it was like he was preparing for his TV appearance. Maybe he was. Present a confident image and maybe the internal will follow suit.

He told himself that he wasn’t doing it because the tiny cop asked him to do it, although it felt like a long time since someone demanded something of him appearance wise. Even then it only lasted a small time. In his younger days, his father never spent a dime on him and his sister, forcing him to spend whatever he earned on his sister. He promised his mother to take care of her and he was never going to break that.

Being around cops was certainly a strange new world. Exquisitely perceptive of the humanity around him, Bellamy couldn't help but discern the reactions, cross currents, doubts, irritation and indifference of the others, even if he chose not to react. Like most people, he preferred to be liked than not. Charming people usually was as effortless as breathing.

He let his mind wander as he stopped at the diner for some tea and breakfast. He was surprised to find out that he was looking forward to going back, to see the same people again. Get a grip Bell, he preferred the company of cops now? He was a Blake after all and he had a reputation to keep up after all.

* * *

Clarke arrived early to catch up on paperwork related to Dellinger case. Detective Jackson from SacPD called her that morning to inform her about Bellamy Blake. Apparently he got caught up in a case so he couldn’t inform her about Bellamy earlier. Well, too late for that now. She told him to clean up and meet her at the office today. Hopefully he won’t show up.

* * *

The security at the entrance let him in on Clarke’s request. He was lingering around the SCU office floor when he met Monty in the break area.

“Hi.”

“Hey. What are you still doing here?” He was surprised but also perplexed by the look on his face.

“Monty Green, is it? Agent Griffin asked me to come by, to read the Red John files.”

Murphy came in. Monty answered his unanswered question. “Clarke asked him to come by, to read the RJ files.”

“Hi.” Bellamy offered for the second time ignoring the dual unsettled reactions.

“Alright. Hi.” Murphy stuttered clearly not as determined as Monty.

“Pretend I’m not here.”

“Uh. Okay.” Murphy then told Monty that Victim’s date was in the office for an interview which prompted Monty to leave.

Bellamy stood in front of Murphy’s desk in the bullpen taking in his surroundings once again. At the awkward thought of Bellamy standing in front of him all day he pointed towards a desk, all the way to the back, near the window.

“You can take that desk over there. No one’s using that anymore.” As Bellamy pointed towards the desk, Murphy nodded.

He sailed through the domain of cops and got seated at a desk worthy of neutral territory. He waited, in his small island of comfort, for the Red John files to arrive. It had been an hour. Monty came into the bullpen after his interview and they were discussing about bringing in a suspect. Apparently, the date revealed a name. Monty, Murphy and Hannigan left after a few minutes. Still no sign of Red John files. He made himself some tea and idly stared out of the window from his desk when Agent Griffin’s voice interrupted his musings.

“Mr. Blake. Mr. Blake.” She waved at him to come over and smiled to cover her dismay at his return. At least he cleaned up. Mostly. His suit and shirt were clean and ironed, his hair neat – as much as the curls allowed. He needed a closer shave, although not badly. And his expression was pleasant and neutral ... which she found confusing because there was no reason yesterday's devastated survivor should have changed that much.

Bellamy took his mug and hurried toward her. "You ‑‑ you can call me Bellamy," he offered, instinctively wanting to make the connection, ease the task of getting his way.

"Bellamy, have a seat," she ushered him into her pretend office and motioned to an old, drab couch.

He seated himself in the corner, arms tight to his body, legs close together. "Thank you." Taking her in, Bellamy cleared his throat and sighed. "You were hoping I wouldn't come back." It wasn't a question.

"Yes. Frankly, I don't think you should look at the files." Her statement rang of professional conviction and personal sympathy. It didn't have the overtones of superiority and bureaucratic bullying that Hannigan's had the day before.

"Your boss said I could," Bellamy politely countered. Because he had already won, he acknowledged her point, "-You're right. I should probably just start a new life."After a moment he added flatly, "I can't." A fact, as immutable as rock.

"I'll have the files sent up. There are a lot of them. Meanwhile, you stay in here."

"I don't mind waiting out there. I don't want to be a burden."

"You're kind of a distraction to the office. No offense, but you have a bit of a homeless vibe about you," she said with a half-smile.

"I cleaned up, like you, uh, told me to."

"It's a process, huh?" she said and walked off.

He was slightly surprised, a bit amused, and a little chagrined to be called out a second time. The master of control ... apparently was off his game. He had still a long way to go to get his image straight, he decided. Then he wondered, and what image is that? No longer psychic. What was he now?

Without much to do he began speculating about the case of Winston Dellinger. Why was he shot dead in lonely stretch of road, why was his car damaged and stuff like that? Dellinger’s date arrived for questioning but from what he had seen of her there was no guilt. She looked nice even. Victim’s father was hiding something based on his talk with him yesterday but he was not guilty of killing his son.

That afternoon, Clarke’s team brought the guy that was named by victim’s date. He looked tough as nails, negative and aggressive but he couldn’t find any guilt. Hannigan interviewed him but came up empty. They need more.

The pseudo-office-without-real-walls did nothing to block sound. Now interested, Bellamy stood and consciously listened as the team outlined the fruits of their research. Clarke and her team noticed his eavesdropping and challenged him. Bellamy claimed to be stretching his legs. Annoyed, they finished the briefing, doing their best to ignore the interloper.

They discovered an interesting bit of information while checking victim’s background. He was involved in a vehicular manslaughter case a while back but the case was dropped mysteriously. A young woman lost her life in that accident. Her husband made some threats against the victim. Clarke sent Monty to deal with the detective who handled the case.

Much to his surprise, Clarke had chosen him to accompany her while interviewing the young woman’s family. He perfectly understood the threats that were made by the woman’s husband. Their son lost their mother. He lost his wife He wanted revenge…perfectly normal, right? Who wouldn’t? But the family were relieved that he was dead and angry at the injustice done to them but he couldn’t find any guilt there. Even though Clarke handled it well he noticed that the whole thing made her uncomfortable.

On their journey back to the office he thought back about the interview. He recalled Clarke’s reaction to each and every word they said. Every time they mentioned about the woman who dies in a car accident, leaving a child motherless so young, there was a reaction. So did the husband’s aggressive words. He should have seen it a mile back.

Clarke’s father was abusive…he guessed that. But it seems that her mother died in a car accident, and that’s the reason her father became an alcoholic? There must be siblings too based on the pictures he saw at her office. Alcohol abuse it was then. He had sensed anger radiating off her about the fact that Dellinger was let go scot free. So the person who was responsible for her mother’s death walked as well. That was the reason she became a cop. Now he got a full picture of the petite yet fearsome agent... A new wave of respect washed over him. He took a glance at her. She was calm, way too calm. He knew that was a front and she was boiling up inside. She needed to release that pent up energy otherwise that bubble will burst soon and that won’t be pretty, not for anyone.

She dropped him off at the CBI building and he was satisfied with how the day went despite not looking at the Red John files. He was looking forward for the next day already. He had the beginnings of a routine. He had a reason to be somewhere. He had a start on doing something about his family's murder – or at least murderer – once he got the files. However hollow he felt, this was vastly better than his existence after the funeral. It didn't strike him as odd that hunting someone to kill was his connection to living.

* * *

Next morning, he was sipping tea while seated at his desk when Clarke arrived at the bullpen. She was in a meeting with Marcus all morning and he hadn’t had to guess the point of that meeting. The son of a Judge was murdered and he knew the pressure involved in cases like these, based on his experience with SacPD.

“What have we got?” she asked as the team arranged around her.

They all discussed about the evidence they have gathered so far but it was sparse and useless. They hadn’t even found the area where the victim’s car was damaged. Based on what they said he realized it was a hard case.

“That’s it?” Clarke’s voice brought him back from his musings.

“Well it’s a hard case boss.” Murphy shrugged apologetically.

Clarke took a breath. "Let's start from the top. Bring in everybody involved in the case. We'll hear their stories again. Maybe something will shake loose."

"Will do," Murphy affirmed for all three.

"First batch of Red John. Where do you want them?" cheerily asked the courier from CBI file storage.

"Uh, you can just leave it there," answered Clarke.

Bellamy was instantly pulled upright, like a marionette with a steel cable hooked to his spine. His every fiber centered on the boxes. Three long strides took him to the courier. He seized the top box and returned to the desk, total focus on the contents.

"Eager beaver, huh?" the courier asked with a grin.

Dread was their response. Bellamy's polite, tentative, deferential demeanor had vanished, revealing a determined, grievously scarred survivor obsessed with the killer of his family. This was a train wreck in slow motion.

Clarke gathered herself and walked over to where Bellamy was seated. A thought occurred to her on the way to the Bullpen. Bellamy had previous experience working with SacPD on all kinds of cases. Based on the time spent with him she knew he had an extraordinary ability to read people. They had next to nothing on this case and he had listened to their every conversation regarding the case. He was a fresh pair of eyes and she knew it won’t hurt them to have one at this point.

"Mr. Blake, before you get into that, I wanted to ask a favor. I need your help."

* * *

He was a little dazed with everything. He placed the lid on the box that contained case files and stood up. He needed a breath of fresh air. Bullpen was almost empty since it was lunchtime. For a winter day, it was unseasonably bright and mild. He walked off in a random direction. He agreed to help. Why? By the way how did she think he could help? He was surprised that she asked for his help alright.

He was a civilian, a sketchy interloper and California’s Premiere law enforcement agency wanted his help. He had no training regarding police work, but then he recalled Clarke’s words about reading people. As a carnie, he can do that. He can do that very well indeed. He decided to share his impressions with her and start reading the RJ files again.

He let his thoughts drift about why he agreed to help in the first place? He had nothing to gain from agreeing to help. He already had everything he needed but then why did he agree? Well for one his weakness for women. For Kind, honest women like his mother, Samantha, Octavia and (he swallowed roughly) Gina, and so unlike his ass of a father. Since he left Dr. Tsing at the asylum, Clarke was the only person to have a real conversation with him. Baiting Hannigan, ordering dinner, small talk with Monty didn’t count.

He glanced through a storefront window at a clock and realized he'd have to get back. He just had to take a look, tell Lisbon, and then start on the Red John files. A shiver of eagerness and foreboding went through him at the thought. He set it aside. The files waited for so long, they can wait a few more hours.

* * *

The case:

*****Too many characters in this part. It might get confusing. Only five of them matter at this stage and we all know who they are. It’s just a case to establish Bellamy with the team. Ignore the characters in this part if you read it bcoz they won’t appear again after this. You can skip it if you want and you won’t miss a thing.*****

Six people were seated in the room. Five faces were familiar to him through interviews. And the one looked like a cop. That must be the detective.

_Case overview_:

_ Winston Dellinger was shot to dead and his car was damaged in an accident. Dellinger was involved in a vehicular Manslaughter a while ago that killed a young woman and walked Scott free. _

_Winston Dellinger---Victim._

_Judge Dellinger-----Victim’s father. _

_Kelly--------------Victim’s date on night of the murder. _

_Cox---------------Just a tough guy who stalked Dellinger. _

_Das Santos---------Husband of the woman who was killed by the Dellinger a while ago, vehicular manslaughter. _

_Mrs. Recinos--------Mother of the woman killed in the accident. _

_Nathaniel Kim-------Former Cop who investigated vehicular manslaughter._

Clarke lead Bellamy into a darkened room, the other side of a one-way mirror featured in a thousand crime dramas. Cool. Don't have to avoid staring as he read them, he thought looking at five slightly familiar faces plus one he hadn't seen before.

"Okay. Everybody involved in the Dellinger murder is in that room. One of them is very likely lying. One of them is very likely the murderer," she opened.

"Wow." Will finally see it solved. Neat.

"What I'd like you to do is go in there, take a look at all of them, and tell me if you can spot the liar."

Psychic reading for a live audience. Like the one before the murders. "Me?" he asked, icy dread lancing through him.

"You seem to have a gift."

His chest tightened painfully, "I told you, I'm not a psychic. I'm a charlatan. You hear me? I-I-I'm a fraud."

"I believe you. But whatever it is, it's a gift. I figure, why not use it?" she said intensely, willing him to do it.

Faintly, "I can't," he breathed, knees threatening to buckle.

"We're kind of at a standstill here," she pleaded. "Come on," she urged, motioning him out. He took a deep breath and followed into the adjacent room, compelled by his earlier promise.

"Hello, everybody," Clarke greeted. Thinking on her feet, "Um, this is Bellamy Blake. He's a consultant with the CBI. Before we start the interviews, he is going to–" she drew a blank, "-we'll see what he's gonna do. Mr. Blake?" She tossed it to him and hoped he could catch.

Bellamy stood stiff, fingers fidgeting nervously. Memory of his father's loathed voice urged, Fake it if you have to, Bell, but do something. Got to fool the marks.

"Hi, folks. Quick question - which one of you killed Winston Dellinger?" He leaned forward peering at the six faces.

A chorus of irritated voices arose from the six. Disbelief radiated from Monty and Murphy as they stood off to one side.

"-Oh, come on. This is ridiculous."

"-What?! -I'm not gonna sit here and listen to this."

"-Is he serious?"

Clarke's heart caught in her throat in embarrassment, and then she took back control. "Everybody just calm down, please. That was worth a try. Uh, Agents Green and Murphy will proceed with the interviews. Thank you very much." She turned away as her agents moved to shepherd the six to interrogation rooms.

Monty spoke deferentially, "Judge, if you'll come with me." The agents had to interview different people as opposed to last time to get a fresh take.

Under the commotion of chairs sliding back and people grumbling, Bellamy caught Clarke's elbow and whispered urgently, "Uh, wait a minute. I think I know who did it."

"You sure?" She had to make sure he was certain about this. This could cost her the job.

"Pretty sure."

This was already a disaster. She had nothing to lose. She desperately wanted to catch the murderer. Clarke gritted her teeth and reversed herself. Loudly, "If everybody could just please sit back down. My apologies. Please."

Then, aside to Bellamy again, "-You are absolutely sure?" she probed anxiously.

"Uh, 70%," he answered distractedly, not noticing her blanch. Urgently, "You have tarot cards?"

Shocked, "-Tarot cards?! - N-o-o," she answered with a sinking feeling. Oh, God. A Carnival sideshow. She better had a hell of an explanation for this.

"Uh, ladies and gentlemen, um, I - I'm sorry for, uh, for wasting your time. If, uh–" Bellamy started uncertain. Monty and Murphy stood to the side, in case things got out of control. If they had any doubts about Clarke’s play they didn’t show it. Sign of faith in her.

The judge interjected, angry and annoyed. "I've had more than enough of this. Agent Griffin, really? This is outrageous!"

Cox seconded, "Tell 'im, Judge."

Bellamy desperately scrambled for control. He stepped forward and straightened. "Just one moment more. There's something I wanna show you. Something you might find amazing." He mentally chastised himself. It was wrong appeal, wrong word.

“I used to be a psychic. I used to read minds, talk to dead people." He paused for effect. "Only I didn't. Of course I didn't, 'cause there's no such thing as psychics or mediums. Or at least I've never met one." He calmed and projected force, knowledge. He can do this.

"Psychic powers are just tricks. They're mind games. It's observation." With conviction, "But it works. There's a killer in this room, and I'm gonna use pseudo-psychic powers to persuade that killer to confess." There was the pitch. That would have made his Father proud. Now he just had to hold them to it and run with it.

"This is bull!" said Cox. He and Dos Santos rose to leave. Cuttingly, "Shortcut method - the first person to leave did it!" His voice halted them like a whip. Bellamy knew crowd control before he hit puberty.

Voice commanding, compelling, gaining confidence, "Now like I say, there's no such thing as psychics. Let's be clear about that. But the human mind is amazingly powerful. It can do things for real that sometimes feel like magic. And I wanna show you."

He noticed a box of index cards at the table near the observation mirror and grabbed a marker with it. "Now, normally, I would use Tarot cards for this." He sharply tapped the cards straight, no hint of uncertainty remaining. He started drawing quickly. "But, uh, in this case, these will have to do, as long as you're all willing to use a little imagination." The pen scratched. He kept up the patter, careful not to lose them while he drew. "Bear with me."

Bellamy finished drawing and handed the cards to Clarke. "Agent Griffin, if you could mix those cards up thoroughly, please. Thank you for your patience," he directed toward the six. "I'll take them. Thank you."

He tossed the cards on the conference table in a couple of piles. "Now I would like you, without looking, to choose a card, face-down. But first - and this is very important - before you take the card, I'd like you to close your eyes and I'd like you to think about the last scary dream you had." He ignored the scoffing from a few of the six.

"Remember the last time you woke up shivering with fear."

Monty kicked Murphy's ankle as his partner closed his eyes. Crazy, but interesting bull, Monty allowed.

"Got it? Good. Thank you. Open your eyes. Take a card. Keep it face-down. Keep your hand on top of it. Thank you." Bellamy waited till each of the six had a card.

"Now here's the thing - you think you just made a random pick. Where, in fact, your subconscious mind made a very meaningful choice. And this is how the killer will be revealed." Bellamy plotted his approach, deciding to start with the ones he already knew didn't do it. He had subtly marked the back of each card with a fingernail impression. All he had to do was come up with a riff of convincing patter that would fit.

"Mrs. Recinos, you dreamt that your daughter was falling into a very dark place, and you couldn't stop her. You called out that you loved her, but she couldn't hear you."

"Yes," she breathed in wonder, confusion.

"And that's why you chose - the lovers." Bellamy flipped her card, revealing entwined hearts. Recinos gasped and muttered in Spanish.

Bellamy walked a few paces past Dos Santos. "Judge Dellinger, you dreamt of death. And you chose death."

The judge's card revealed the crude drawing of a skull. He next moved to Kelly.

"Kelly, you can't shake the idea that you'll never find true love. And you picked-" He held her card for all to see without looking himself, "–the fool."

Her card showed the court jester, the fool. She gasped.

"How do you do that?"

Bellamy next moved to one of the men who could possibly be the murderer, the one he hadn't seen before.

"Mr. Kim. You have a lot of scary dreams. But you can't remember them. However, you're a cop. So you think the rules don't apply to you." Jane left it ambiguous. He wouldn't know about Kim till after Dos Santos and, especially, Cox.

"And you chose the magician," flipping the card. No one saw him then palm that card and substitute another as he replaced it face down on the table.

Kim commented, unimpressed, "Neat trick."

"Yes, just a trick." Bellamy moved back around the table.

"Mr. Dos Santos, you dream of being trapped. Caged like an animal. And you dream of a terrible, violent escape. You picked – the devil. He revealed the picture, holding it for all to see. The two women gasped.

"None of that's true," Dos Santos objected mildly. By then, Bellamy had the other five roped in, buying it. They dismissed Dos Santos's denial.

He moved to the final one "And, Mr. Cox. You constantly dream of all the people you've hurt coming back to seek revenge. And guess what? They have the same dream." He was certain now. He read no guilt in Cox.

"You chose the hanged man.–" Bellamy revealed the picture then paused, seemingly puzzled. "Uh, actually that's not right," he said, looking at the magician card.

"Uh, Mr. Kim had that card." Bellamy returned to Kim's side and flipped the card. It was the hanged man.

"Ah. Ah-ha." he said, portentously.

Kim, confused, "What's that supposed to mean?"

With a silky voice of conviction, "It means you killed Winston Dellinger." He leaned down by Kim's side, the better to catch his eyes, hold his gaze.

Kim tried to scoff, "Yeah, right. Give me a break."

The others looked around in confusion. Judge Dellinger was angry, stone-faced.

Bellamy pressed his advantage, "No. No break. You did it. The subconscious mind never lies. Your guilt is written on that card. And written all over your face."

Kim paled, protested, "No. No, I - I didn't. Come on," he pleaded. "It's a card trick!"

Bellamy's voice was mesmerizing, gaze unwavering. "Yes, it was. But when I said I could use your choice of card to reveal the killer, you looked a little worried. For a split second. Just you. And then you looked relieved when I couldn't read your dream. And then when you saw the hanged man, the blood drained from your face."

More agitated, "No. No, this is ridiculous."

Monty and Murphy exchanged astonished glances. Bellamy knelt and continued, unperturbed.

"Everyone can see your guilt. But what I can't see is your motive," he continued, weaving a web of remorse and shame. "Why, Nathaniel? Why did you kill him?" Commanding, "Look at me. Why, Nathaniel? You seem like a good person. You come from good people. Why'd you kill him?" Kim's face crumpled in guilt and pain and shame. Bellamy stood and straightened.

To himself as much as the agents, "-Well, I'll be damned. That's your man, Agent Griffin." He backed away, pointing at Kim. "That's your man." A ghost of a smile flitted across his face, competing with surprise and satisfaction.

* * *

Broken, Kim confessed to Monty shortly afterward in interrogation. Kim knew the incriminating evidence would surface once the focus was on him. The bar Kim owned was absolved of a lawsuit by Judge Dellinger. In return, Kim falsified evidence in the death of Mia Dos Santos. Winston Dellinger had been charged with involuntary manslaughter for killing Mia Dos Santos while driving drunk, but the charge was dropped because Kim falsified some evidence. Four days ago, Winston Dellinger called Kim in a panic, believing he again had hit a person while driving drunk. Realizing he would forever be cleaning up Dellinger's drunken messes, Kim killed him on that lonely road. It turned out Dellinger had hit a deer.

*****end of the case***********************

* * *

Clarke mulled over the events that happened as she sat in her office. She was relieved, impressed and amazed. She knew that he had some sort of ability but she was not expecting that. She had hoped that Mr. Blake would point them towards the direction of a possible murderer. Instead he neatly gift wrapped them the case. Her crazy plan worked. Paperwork for this case should be interesting. But they solved a murder, bagged a corrupt Cop and a corrupt Judge. Everyone in Law Enforcement hated dirty cops with a passion and that was a huge win for her team.

* * *

Bellamy sat alone in the bullpen as he sipped his tea. He was stunned he had solved the case with his carnie tricks and skills. This was the first useful thing he had done in a year. He felt a inkling that the tricks and skills he used to con people and trick, defraud them could be used in a more useful way and he liked it. It gave him a satisfactory feeling deep inside.

He unconsciously made his way to Director Marcus Kane’s office. He had one thing in his mind.

“Ah, Mr. Blake. I heard you helped them solve the case. How did it felt?” Marcus asked eagerly.

“It felt good, Crazy but good. I'm here to ask you a favor.” He needs to get to the point before he lost the confidence and nerve.

“Thought Red John files have been delivered to you?”

“Yes, thank you. But this is about me consulting for the team.” Bellamy forced it out bluntly.

“Consulting?” Marcus was bewildered.

“Yes, I have previous experience working with the cops. Have done this sort of thing before. Helped them solve some tough cases.” He was rather proud of his record with SacPD except the obvious one.

“Mr. Blake, sorry if it comes across as rude, but don’t think Agent Griffin’s team needs your help at all. If anything they have one of the best closure rates in CBI.” Marcus stated as a matter of fact.

He knew that. They were good agents. But it was him who needed this. “I know that. They are the best team I have worked with so far.” Marcus looked proud as he sat up straighter. “Look, I’ll be just a consultant who helps the team in solving high profile murder cases in exchange for information on Red John case. You won’t even have to explain my presence in the CBI premises anymore. Think of it as using my ability for better this time. You can check with SacPD about my record. Think about this Marcus. It’s a win-win for everyone.”

“Your ability? I thought you said you are not a psychic, never were one?”

“Yes, I’m not. Never was. It was all old carnie tricks and skills. Speaking of which, we solved three cases today using those tricks and skills. Think about how many high profile cases this division can close. I don’t even need the credit for any of them. Plus I’ll work for free.” Bellamy pleaded.

That did the trick. “I’ll think about it. No promises. I need to speak with my superiors as well as Agent Griffin about this. I’ll call you when I make a decision.” Marcus dismissed him with a wave of hand.

* * *

It was half an hour before the start of work day. She got a call from Marcus that morning asking her to meet him at his office. She knew why he wanted to meet her. It was about the case. She was prepared for that. Clarke walked up to the doorway of the director’s office and paused, waiting. He looked up from the report he was reading and motioned for her to enter and get seated. He leaned back in his chair weather face unreadable.

“Care to explain yourself, Agent?”

She took a deep breath, squared her shoulders and looked him in the eye. "Yes, sir. My team closed the Winston Dellinger case. We have Nathaniel Kim in custody for his murder. Kim's confession implicated another man in falsifying evidence in a vehicular manslaughter case. He is also in custody."

Marcus’ face relaxed; pleased she stood up for herself. Wryly, "You just 'forgot' to mention the second man is Appellate Court Judge. You uncovered and arrested a corrupt cop, a corrupt judge, and solved the murder. Not bad for a week's work."

Clarke relaxed, her posture changed from attention to alert.“Is it okay, then?”

“What’s this ‘it’ we’re talking about here? Passing a con man off as a CBI consultant? Letting him use Tarot cards of all things to identify the murderer and set up his confession? Giving a civilian access to confidential information as you work the case?"

"I think that covers it, sir," she said stiffly.

“Clarke,” He told shaking his head, “I told you I hired you to shake up the CYA culture around these parts. I couldn’t buy this kick in the ass for the bureau if I paid for it myself.” His grumpiness fell away as he grinned. “Nice work.”

“Thank you” She added skeptically as she waited for the other shoe to drop. He didn’t invite her to pat on her back.

"I need a candid reaction. I'm thinking of hiring Bellamy Blake as a CBI consultant."

Her eyebrows rose in surprise. "Uh-h-h–" she said intelligently.

"Let me be blunt. Will you work with him as a consultant on your team?"

Eyes narrowed, she sensed a trap. "Would he fill my last agent position?"

"Yes he would."

She leaned back, implications racing through her mind. "If he counts as filling my last position, could we work fresh cases if it were just Monty, Rigsby, Bellamy and me?"

Corner of Marcus’ lips quirked up in a cynical smile. “Tired of Hannigan?”

“I don’t think Hannigan would want to work with Bellamy. Bad Blood.”

“Huh. Nice save, Griffin.” Marcus snorted. “You mean Bellamy is your golden opportunity to get rid of Hannigan.” She never gave up on one of her own so she sat back without saying a word, neither confirming nor denying it.

He let it go. “Okay, I admit Hannigan is not much of a cop these days-if he ever was. He was just the best of a bad bunch to fill out your team. I hope you learned something from that experience. What about Monty and Murphy-you picked them-any chance of fallout?”

She considered his question for a moment. They had reservations about Bellamy-hell she had more. But they worked with him without any issues. She knew they did it out of respect for her and hoped that they would accept him as a part of the team.

“They care about nailing criminals. They’re flexible to work with him if Bellamy is useful enough.”

Marcus grunted. “Another high risk, high reward situation Clarke. Just hope that you’re aware of the risks associated with this. I have already spoken to Bellamy once…I’ll let you know about his final decision.” He purposefully left out the part where it was Bellamy who practically volunteered for this Job. It seemed like a plea for help at that time and he decided to keep it to himself. Let the records show he was the one who hired Bellamy for this job and he would take the fall for it, if it comes to that.

“I am.” Clarke’s answer brought him out of his stupor as he waved his hand dismissing her.

* * *

The security guard escorted him to the Director’s office that morning. The office door was open so Bellamy walked in and seated himself, crossed his legs, and he leaned back in the chair. Marcus looked up and leaned back as well letting the silence stretch to over a minute. He looked different today as Marcus studied the man who was seated opposed to him. He was calm, composed, and all that frantic energy gone.

Finally, “Mr. Blake, Thank you for coming up.”

“Oh come on, as if I had a choice. Your security guard practically dragged me here. I haven’t even got my cup of tea yet.” He had the nerve to complain.

“Sorry for not taking your pleasures into consideration. I’ll make sure to ask everyone at CBI to always take your pleasures into consideration before demanding anything from you, ever again.” Marcus said mockingly.

“Thank you. I really appreciate that. Now why did you want to meet me? Did you make a decision?” He enquired hopefully.

“Yes, I have made a decision. I spoke to my superiors and Agent Griffin about your proposal. They have some reservations about that arrangement.” Marcus hesitated deliberately. He need to set certain things straight here itself.

“What kind of reservations?”

“Well your attitude while working with SacPD for a start. Here you’re an official consultant who assists in cases for the team. You listen to trained agents and follow their lead. Always follow protocol. You may have worked differently with SacPD but here Agent Griffin’s decision is final.” He paused as he stressed on the last part before carrying on. “You were an independent consultant before but now you’re contracted to the agency so you better behave yourself as such. Also you’ll be paid a basic salary for your services but there won’t be any other allowances. If you are willing to agree to these terms then we can move forward. Otherwise there’s no use in wasting anyone’s time.” He finished determined.

“I agree to that. I will listen to whatever Agent Griffin says. No problem. But I have a question as well.” He smiled despite himself.

“Go ahead. Ask anything.”

“Agent Griffin’s team will have the Red John’s case moving forward, won’t they? I need to be a part of active Red John investigations. I need full access to everything regarding the case.” He spoke resolutely.

“Yes, you’re part of the team. That means access to all cases involving your team. Hope that clears it up for you. Anything else?”

That was all he needed. “No, thank you. That’s all. Where should I sign?”

Both men rose and shook hands. “My assistant will take you to the HR to get set up. Report to Agent Griffin once you’re done.”

Bellamy followed Kane’s assistant with a fox-who-ate-the-chicken smile. Just when he reached the door Marcus voice stopped him.

“You know, Agent Griffin is a rising star at the CBI. She is the only unit head with the flexibility to take on a--- civilian like you, Mr. Blake. You have a role in shaping three of the most promising agents in the CBI. So please keep in mind that you have a stake in making this work. If your actions harm their careers in anyway, I won’t even hesitate to throw you out.” He met Marcus Kane’s unwavering gaze. He was rendered speechless. He nodded slightly before leaving the office with a frown on his face.

* * *

Clarke informed her team that afternoon about the decision to hire one Bellamy Blake. Monty and Murphy had their own reservations but they all agreed to work together if she believed that this’ll work. She was grateful for their unwavering support and belief in her. She was unsure how she was ever going to repay that.

She spoke to Hannigan separately in her office. Hannigan was mad. He didn’t want to work with Bellamy, as expected. He wanted a transfer to another unit and she agreed to it. That went better than she expected.

Bellamy Blake didn’t show up until mid afternoon. Clarke was talking with Monty and Murphy about Hannigan’s decision as Bellamy stepped out of the elevator.

“Any idea who’s going to replace Hannigan?” Monty was tired of Hannigan’s antics. He was uncertain about Bellamy Blake too, but they needed a fourth member for now so he may as well make himself useful for the team.

“Don't know yet. There's a new class of trainees coming up. Maybe we'll get one of them. Files are right there if you wanna take a look." She thought to add, "As always, treat personnel info as private." She rose and stepped out of her office.

Picking up some files, Murphy showed one to Monty, "Like this one."

Cho bit his cheek at the picture of a gorgeous yet fierce brunette. "She's cute. And out of your league."

* * *

Clarke intercepted Bellamy who was standing near the bull pen smoothing over his new CBI Consultant ID card on his suit jacket.

“Mr. Blake. Welcome aboard."

"Thank you. Uh, if there's no case, I wonder if–"

"The Red John files?" He nodded. "One last time‑‑ are you sure you wanna do this?"

"Yes, I am."

Resigned, "Okay. I tried."

"You did. Thank you." Surprised, Clarke stiffened when Bellamy stepped forward and hugged her. After a moment she awkwardly patted his back. He released her and stepped back.

They made their way to a storage room and she clicked on a light. A conference table occupied the scant free space near the door. A dozen storage boxes covered the table.

"Here you go. I'm going home. If you need me to explain anything, give me a call."

Clarke gave him her phone number, turned and left. The storage room was dim and the building rapidly emptied out at the end of the day on Friday. He knew he was just projecting his own feelings, but somehow, the boxes carried a weight, captured a burden of grief and malevolence that permeated the semi-dark room. At random, he opened a box and took a file. He began to read and idly backed up and leaned on old leather couch up-ended for storage.

* * *

Marcus was finishing up the paperwork that couldn’t wait over the weekend. He was startled as well as surprised, not expecting a call at the end of a workday as well as workweek.

“Yes.”

“Marcus Kane?”

“Yes, who’s this?”

“Diana Sydney, FBI. We met at a forensics conference at Roanoke.”

“Director Sydney. What a pleasure to hear from you.” He didn’t even try to hide his cool reaction for the unexpected call.

“I heard the CBI has hired a consultant, a man named Bellamy Blake?” her voice was soft and honey sweet.

"Yes. I'm surprised you know. I didn't realize you followed our hiring that closely," his tone slightly mocking.

"Mr. Blake is connected to a case we're interested in. The serial killer known as 'Red John.' I'm, um, calling to ask a favor."

"What's that?"

"I would appreciate updates on the Red John case. That way, when my boss asks me what's going on, I have something to tell him."

Dryly, "To put it bluntly, Diana, why would I do that? What's in it for me?"

"It's useful to have a friend in the FBI, isn't it? And I'm a good friend," she purred.

"Well, I'm a great believer in inter‑agency cooperation. I don't see why we couldn't engage in some." This was intriguing enough to interest him.

"I look forward to it, Marcus. Oh, by the way, one thing you might want to know about Bellamy Blake. –You know how he's been out of sight in the past year? You know where he's been?"

"No."

"An insane asylum. Good luck."

Marcus set his phone down gently. What the hell was that about? The Feds were interested in Red John, but especially in Bellamy. Speaking of Bellamy, insane asylum, uh? He was not surprised by that news at all. One thing to lose your wife and daughter, but discovering them slaughtered like that in their home. That sight would have broken anyone. Since when does FBI monitor a private citizen, whose family was murdered? Marcus organized the files on his desk, not in the mood to work after that call. He needed to keep an eye on Bellamy very closely, and also give a heads up to Clarke. She deserved to know the truth.

He clicked off his desk lamp, straightened, and then paused. Just as well he had tied Bellamy Blake to the CBI. Blake's family was the only link they had, the only murder with a known personal connection to Red John. Blake was the loose thread that might lead them to him. Sooner or later, they will get the bastard.

A chill ran down his back. Somewhere in his tough, practical, experienced psyche, it registered that hiring Bellamy Blake had linked the CBI to a vicious, preternaturally successful serial killer. Marcus shrugged it off. It was a cold winter night. That's all.


End file.
